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“Highland Mary. 



HIGHLAND 

MARY 

The Romance- of a Poet 


A 

NOVEL 


By 

CLAYTON MACKENZIE LEGGE 


Illustrated by 

WILLIAM KIRPATRICK 




1906 

C, M. CLARK PUBLISHING CO. 

BOSTON 



LIBftARYof CONGRESS 
Two Cooies Received 

PFF tl 190r 



Copyright, 1906. 

THE C. M. CLARK PUBLISHING CO., 
Boston, Mass. 


Entered at 

Stationer’s Hall, London. 


Dramatic and all other 
Rights Reserved. 



TO 


The Rev. Dr. Donald Sage Mackay, D.D., 

Pastor of the Collegiate Churchy 
New York City. 


RESPECTFULLY. DEDICATE THIS BOOK 


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FOREWORD 


With apologies to Dame History for having taken liberties 
with some of her famous characters, I would ask the Reader to 
remember that this story is fiction and not history. 

I have made use of some of the most romantic episodes in the 
life of Robert Burns, such as his courtship of Mary Campbell and 
his love aifair with Jean Armour, ‘'the Belle of Mauchline,’* and 
many of the historical references and details are authentic. 

But my chief purpose in using these incidents was to make 
“Highland Mary’’ as picturesque, lovable and interesting a char- 
acter in Fiction as she has always been in the History of Scotland. 


Clayton Mackenzie Legge. 



HIGHLAND MARY 


CHAPTER I 

In the “ but ” or living-room (as it was termed in 
Scotland) of a little whitewashed thatched cottage 
near Auld Ayr in the land of the Doon, sat a quiet, 
sedate trio of persons consisting of two men and a 
woman. She who sat at the wheel busily engaged in 
spinning was the mistress of the cot, a matronly, 
middle-aged woman in peasant’s cap and ’kerchief. 

The other two occupants of the room for years 
had been inseparable companions and cronies, and 
when not at the village inn could be found sitting 
by the fireside of one of their neighbors, smoking 
their pipes in blissful laziness. And all Ayrshire 
tolerated and even welcomed Tam O’Shanter and his 
cronie, “ Souter Johnny.” 

Tam was an Ayrshire farmer, considered fairly 
well-to-do in the neighborhood, while Souter (shoe- 
maker) Johnny was the village cobbler, who seldom, 
if ever, worked at his trade nowadays. All the 
afternoon had they sat by the open fireplace, with its 
roomy, projecting chimney, watching the peat burn, 
seldom speaking, smoking their old smelly pipes, and 
sighing contentedly as the warmth penetrated their 
old bones. 


2 


HIGHLAND MARY 


Mrs. Bums glanced at her uninvited guests occa- 
sionally with no approving eye. If they must inflict 
their presence on her, why couldn’t they talk, say 
something, tell her some of the news, the gossip of 
the village she thought angrily; their everlasting 
silence had grown very monotonous to the good 
dame. She wished they would go. It was nearing 
supper time, and Gilbert would soon be in from the 
field, and she knew that he did not approve of the 
two old cronies hanging around monopolizing the 
fireplace to the exclusion of everyone else, and she did 
not want any hard words between them and Gilbert. 
Suddenly with a final whirl she fastened the end of 
the yarn she was spinning, and getting up from 
her seat set the wheel back against the whitewashed 
wall. 

Then going to the old deal dresser, she took from 
one of the drawers a white cloth and spread it 
smoothly over the table, then from the rack, which 
hung above it, she took the old blue dishes and quickly 
set the table for their evening meal. At these prep- 
arations for supper the old cronies looked eagerly 
expectant, for none knew better than they the excel- 
lence of the Widow Bums’ cooking, and a look of 
pleasant anticipation stole over their sober faces as 
they perceived the platter of scones on the table ready 
to be placed on the hot slab of stone in the fireplace. 

Knocking the ashes from his pipe, Tam rose 
unsteadily to his feet, and standing with his back 


3 


HIGHLAND MARY 

to the fire, he admiringly watched the widow as she 
bustled to and fro from table to dresser. ‘‘ Ah, Mis- 
tress Burns, ye’re a fine housekeeper,” he remarked 
admiringly. “ An’ ye’re a fine cook.” 

Mrs. Bums turned on him sharply. “ So is your 
guidwife,” she said shortly, glancing out through the 
low, deep, square window to where her second son 
could be seen crossing the field to the house. She 
hoped he would take the hint and go. 

“ Aye, Mistress, I ken ye’re recht,” replied Tam, 
meekly, with a dismal sigh. “ But it’s a sorry bet o’ 
supper I’ll be gang hame to this night, an’ ye ken 
it’s a long journey, too. Mistress Burns,” he insin- 
uated slyly. 

“ Sure it’s a lang, weary journey, Tam,” said Sou- 
ter Johnny, commiseratingly. But think o’ the 
warm welcome ye’ll be haein’ when ye meet your guid- 
wife at the door,” and a malicious twinkle gleamed in 
his kindly but keen old eyes. 

‘‘ How is your guidwife, Tam O’Shanter? ” in- 
quired Mistress Bums, as she placed some scones on 
the hot hearthstone to bake. 

“ She’s a maist unco woman. Mistress,” replied 
Tam sorrowfully. ‘‘ There’s no livin’ wi’ her o’ 
late. She’s no a help or comfort to a mon at a’ ! ” he 
whined. Here Tam got a delicious whiff of the bak- 
ing scones, and his mouth as well as his eyes watered 
as he continued pathetically, ‘‘ If she could only 
cook like ye. Mistress. Oh, ’twas a sorry day for 


4 


HIGHLAND MARY 


Tam O’Shanter when he took such a scoldin’ beldame 
for wife,” and Tam sat down, the picture of abject 
distress. 

Souter regarded his cronie with a grim smile. He 
had no pity for Tam, nor for any man, in fact, who 
would not or could not rule his own household. 
(Souter, by the by, had remained a bachelor.) How- 
ever, he did his best to console Tam whenever his 
marital troubles were discussed. 

‘‘ Never mind, Tam,” he said sympathetically, 
helping himself to a scone while Mistress Burns’ back 
was turned. “ Ye ken where ye can find all the com- 
fort and consolation ye can hold, if ye hae the tip- 
pence.” 

Tam wiped away a tear (tears came easily to 
the old tyke in his constant state of semi-intoxication) 
and gave a deep, prolonged sigh. “ Aye, Souter, an’ 
I feel mair at home in the Inn than I do with my guid- 
wife,” he answered mournfully. “ I dinna mind tell- 
ing ye, she’s driven me to the Deil himsel’, by her daur 
looks an’ ways. The only friend I hae left is Old 
John Barleycorn,” and he wailed in maudlin despair. 

“ He’s your best enemy, ye mean,” retorted Sou- 
ter dryly, relighting his pipe, after having demolished, 
with evident relish, the last of his stolen scone. 

“ Waesucks, mon,” he continued, assuming the 
tone of Dominie Daddy Auld, who had tried in vain 
to convert the two old sinners, much to their amuse- 
ment and inward elation. ‘‘ Your guidwife told ye 


5 


HIGHLAND MARY 

weel. Ye’re a skellum, Tam, a blethering, blustering, 
drunken blellum,” and the old rogue looked slyly at 
Mistress Burns to note the effect of his harangue. 

Aye, ye’re right, Souter J ohnny,” said the good 
dame, nodding approval to him, and going up to 
Tam, who was still sitting groaning by the fireside, 
she shook him vigorously by the shoulder. “ Stop 
your groaning and grunting, ye old tyke, and listen 
to me,” she said sharply. “Take your friend’s ad- 
vice and gi’ old John Barleycorn a wide berth.” 
Here her voice dropped to a whisper, “ or some day 
ye’ll be catched wi’ warlocks in the mire, Tam 
O’Shanter.” He stopped his noise and straightened 
up in his chair. 

“ Aye, and ghosties and witches will come yelpin’ 
after ye as ye pass the auld haunted kirk at Allo- 
way,” added Souter sepulchrally, leaning over Tam 
with fixed eyes and hand outstretched, clutching spas- 
modically at imaginary objects floating before Tam’s 
suspicious, angry eyes. Tam, however, was not to 
be so easily frightened, and brushing Souter aside, he 
jumped to his feet. “ Souter Johnny, dinna ye 
preach to me, mon,” he roared menacingly. “Ye 
hae no reght. Let Daddy Auld do that! I dinna 
fear the witches or ghosties, not I.” He staggered 
to the window and pointed to an old white horse 
standing meeki^i" by the roadside. 

“ Do ye see my auld faithful Maggie standin’ out 
there? ” he cr ed triumphantly. Not waiting for 


6 


HIGHLAND MARY 


their answer, he continued proudly, Nae witches can 
catch Tam O’Shanter when he’s astride his auld 
mare’s back, whether he is drunk or sober,” and he 
glared defiantly at his listeners. At that moment 
the door from the ‘‘ ben ” opened, and Gilbert Burns 
entered the room. An angry frown wrinkled his 
forehead as his gaze fell upon the two old cronies. A 
hard worker himself, he could not abide laziness or 
shiftlessness in another. He strode swiftly up to Tam, 
who had suddenly lost his defiant attitude, but before 
he could speak the bitter, impatient words which 
rushed to his lips, his mother, knowing his uncertain 
temper, shook her head at him remonstratingly. “ Ah, 
lad, I’m fair ye hae come in to rest a while, an’ to hae 
a bit o’ supper,” she hurriedly said. ‘‘ Set ye doon. 
I hae some scones for ye, an’ Mollie has some rabbit 
stew. Noo gie me your bonnet and coat, laddie,” and 
taking them from him she hung them on the peg 
behind the door, while Gilbert with a look of dis- 
gust at the two old cronies sat down and proceeded 
to butter his scones in moody silence. Tam and Sou- 
ter, however, did not appear in any wise abashed, and 
perceiving they were not to be invited to eat with 
Gilbert, they resumed their seats each side of the 
fireplace and heaved a disconsolate sigh. 

Mrs. Bums, who had left the room for a moment, 
now entered bearing a large bowl of the steaming 
stew, which she set before her son, while directly after 
her appeared old Mollie Dunn, the half-witted house- 


7 


HIGHLAND MARY 

hold drudge. The time was when Mollie had been 
the swiftest mail carrier between Dumfries and 
Mauchline, but she was now content to have a home 
with the Burns family, where, if the twinges of rheu- 
matism assailed her, she could rest her bones until 
relief came. She now stood, a pleased grin on her 
ugly face, watching Gilbert as he helped himself to a 
generous portion of the stew which she had proudly 
prepared for the evening meal. 

“ Molly,” said her mistress sharply, dinna ye 
stand there idle; fetch me some hot water frae the 
pot.” 

Molly got a pan from the rack and hurried to the 
fireplace, where Tam was relighting his pipe with 
a blazing ember, for the dozenth time. Molly 
had no love for Tam, and finding him in her way, 
she calmly gave a quick pull to his plaidie, and Tam, 
who was in a crouching position, fell backward, 
sprawling on the hearth in a decidedly undignified at- 
titude. With the roar of a wounded lion, he scrambled 
to his feet, with the assistance of Souter, and shaking 
his fist at the laughing Molly, he sputtered indig- 
nantly, ‘‘ Is the Deil himsel’ in ye, Molly Dunn ? 
Ye’re an impudent hussy, that’s what ye are.” Molly 
glared at him defiantly for a moment, then calmly pro- 
ceeded to fill her pan with hot water, while the old 
man, bursting with indignation, staggered over to the 
dresser where Mistress Burns was brewing some 
tea. 


8 


HIGHLAND MARY 


“ Mistress Burns,” he remonstrated almost tear- 
fully, ye should teach your servants better man- 
ners. Molly Dunn is a ” but he never finished his 

sentence, for Molly, hurrying back with the hot 
water, ran into him and, whether by design or accident 
it was never known, spilled the hot contents of the pan 
over Tam’s shins, whereupon he gave what resembled 
a burlesque imitation of a Highland fling to the 
accompaniment of roars of pain and anger from 
himself and guffaws of laughter from Souter and 
Molly. Even Mrs. Burns and Gilbert could not 
resist a smile at the antics of the old tyke. 

“ Toots, mon,” said Molly, not at all abashed at 
the mischief she had done, “ ye’re no hurt ; ye’ll get 
mair than that at hame, I’m tellin’ ye,” and she nodded 
her head sagely. 

Molly, hold your tongue,” said Mistress Burns 
reprovingly, then she turned to Tam. “ I hope ye’re 
nae burnt bad.” But Tam was very angry, and turn- 
ing to Souter he cried wrathfully, “ I’m gang 
hame, Souter Johnny. I’ll no stay here to be in- 
sulted; I’m gang hame.” And he started for the 
door. 

“ Dinna mind Molly ; she’s daft like,” replied Sou- 
ter in a soothing voice. “ Come and sit doon,” and 
he tried to pull him toward the fireplace, but Tam 
was not to be pacified. His dignity had been out- 
raged. 

“Nay, nay, Souter, I thank ye!” he said flrmly. 


9 


HIGHLANDMARY 

An’ ye, too, Mistress Bums, for your kind invita- 
tion to stay langer,” she looked at him quickly, 
then gave a little sniff, “ but I ken when I’m insulted,” 
and disengaging himself from Souter’s restraining 
hand, he started for the door once more. 

“ An’ where will ye be gang at this hour, Tam ? ” 
insinuated S outer slyly. “Ye ken your guidwife’s 
temper.” 

“ I’m gang over to the Inn,” replied Tam defi- 
antly, with his hand on the open door. “ Will ye 
gang alang wi’ me, Souter? A wee droppie will cheer 
us both,” he continued persuasively. 

Souter looked anxiously at Gilbert’s stern, frown- 
ing face, then back to Tam. “ I’d like to amazin’ 
weel, Tam,” he replied in a plaintive tone, “ but ye 
see ” 

“ Johnny has promised me he’ll keep sober till 
plantin’ is over,” interrupted Gilbert firmly ; “ after 
that he can do as he likes.” 

“Ye should both be ashamed o’ yoursel’s drinkin’ 
that vile whisky,” said Mrs. Burns angrily, and she 
clacked her lips in disgust. “ It is your worst enemy, 
I’m tellin’ ye.” 

“Ye mind. Mistress Burns,” replied Souter, wink- 
ing his left eye at Tam, “ ye mind the Scriptures 
say, ‘ Love your enemies.’ Weel, we’re just tryin’ to 
obey the Scriptures, eh, Tam.^^ ” 

“ Aye, Souter,” answered Tam with drunken grav- 
ity, “ I always obey the Scriptures.” 


10 HIGHLAND MARY 

“ Here, mon, drink a cup of tea before ye gang 
awa’,” said Mrs. Burns, and she took him a brim- 
ming cup of the delicious beverage, thinking it might 
assuage his thirst for something stronger. Tam 
majestically waved it away. 

‘‘ Nay, I thank ye. Mistress Bums, I’ll no’ deprive 
ye of it,” he answered with extreme condescension. 
“ Tea doesno’ agree with Tam O’Shanter.” He 
pushed open the door. “ I’m off to the Inn, where 
the tea is more to my likin’. Guid-day to ye all,” and, 
slamming the door behind him, he called Maggie to 
his side, and jumping astride her old back galloped 
speedily toward the village Inn. The last heard of 
him that day was his voice lustily singing “ The 
Campbells Are Coming.” 

After he left the room Mistress Bums handed 
Souter the cup of tea she had poured for Tam, and 
soon the silence was unbroken save by an occasional 
sigh from the old tyke as he sipped his tea. 

Presently Gilbert set down his empty cup, rose 
and donned his coat. “ Here we are drinking tea, 
afternoon tea, as if we were of the quality,” he ob- 
served sarcastically, “ instead of being out in the fields 
plowing the soil; there’s much to be done ere sun- 
down.” 

“ Weel, this suits me fine,” murmured Souter 
contentedly, draining his cup. “ I ken I was bom 
to be one o’ the quality; work doesno’ agree wi’ me, 
o’er weel,” and he snuggled closer in his chair. 


HIGHLAND MARY 11 

‘‘ Ye’re very much like my fine brother Robert in 
that respect,” answered Gilbert bitterly, his face 
growing stern and cold. But we want no laggards 
here on Mossgiel. Farmers must work, an’ work 
hard, if they would live.” He walked to the window 
and looked out over the untilled ground with hard, 
angry eyes, and his heart filled with bitterness as he 
thought of his elder brother. It had always fallen to 
him to finish the many tasks his dreaming, thought- 
less, erratic brother had left unfinished, while the lat- 
ter sought some sequestered spot where, with pencil 
and paper in hand, he would idle away his time writ- 
ing verses. And for a year now Robert had been in 
Irvine, no doubt enjoying himself to the full, while 
he, Gilbert, toiled and slaved at home to keep the poor 
shelter over his dear ones. It was neither right nor 
just, he thought, with an aching heart. 

“ Ye ken, Gilbert,” said Souter Johnny, breaking 
in on his reverie, “ Robert wasna’ born to be a 
farmer. He always cared more, even when a wee 
laddie, for writin’ poetry and dreamin’ o’ the lasses 
than toilin’ in the fields, more’s the pity.” 

Mrs. Bums turned on him quickly. “ Souter 
Johnny, dinna ye dare say a word against Robert,” 
she flashed indignantly. “ He could turn the best 
furrough o’ any lad in these parts, ye ken that 
weel,” and Souter was completely annihilated by the 
angry flash that gleamed in the mother’s eye, and it 
was a very humble Souter that hesitatingly held out 


12 HIGHLAND MARY 


his cup to her, hoping to change the subject. “ Hae 
ye a wee droppie mair tea there, Mistress Burns ? ” 
he meekly asked. 

Mrs. Burns was not to be mollified, however. 
‘‘ Aye, but not for ye, ye skellum,” she answered 
shortly, taking the cup from him and putting it in 
the dishpan. 

Come along, Souter,” said Gilbert, going to the 
door. “We hae much to do ere sundown and hae 
idled too long, noo. Come.” 

“ Ye’re workin’ me too hard, Gilbert,” groaned 
Souter despairingly. “ My back is nigh broken ; 
bide a wee, mon ! ” 

A sharp whistle from without checked Gilbert as 
he was about to reply. “ The Posty has stopped at 
the gate,” exclaimed Mistress Burns excitedly, rush- 
ing to the window in time to see old Molly receive 
a letter from that worthy, and then come running 
back to the house. Hurrying to the door, she 
snatched it from the old servant’s hands and eagerly 
held it to the light. Molly peered anxiously over her 
shoulder. 

“ It’s frae Robbie,” she exclaimed delightedly. 
“ Keep quiet, noo, till I read it to the end.” As she 
finished, the tears of gladness rolled down her smooth 
cheek. “ Oh, Gilbert,” she said, a little catch in her 
voice, “ Robert is somin’ back to us. He’ll be here 
this day. Read it, lad, read for yoursel’.” He took 
the letter and walked to the fireplace. After a slight 


HIGHLAND MARY 13 

pause he read it. As she watched him she noticed 
with sudden apprehension the look of anger that 
darkened his face. She had forgotten the misunder- 
standing which had existed between the brothers since 
their coming to Mossgiel to live, and suddenly her 
heart misgave her. 

“ Gilbert lad,” she hesitatingly said as he finished 
the letter, “ dinna say aught to Robert when he 
comes hame about his rhyming, will ye, laddie ? ” 
She paused and looked anxiously into his sullen face. 
“ He canna bear to be discouraged, ye ken,” and she 
took the letter from him and put it in her bosom. 
Gilbert remained silent and moody, a heavy frown 
wrinkling his brow. 

“ Perhaps all thoughts of poesy has left him 
since he has been among strangers,” continued the 
mother thoughtfully. “Ye ken he has been doin’ 
right weel in Irvine; and it’s only because the flax 
dresser’s shop has burned to the ground, and he 
canna work any more, that he decides to come hame 
to help us noo. Ye ken that, Gilbert.” She laid her 
hand in tender pleading on his sunburnt arm. 

“ He always shirked his work before,” replied 
Gilbert bitterly, “ and nae doot he will again. But 
he maun work, an’ work hard, if he wants to stay 
at Mossgiel. Nae more lyin’ around, scribblin’ on 
every piece of paper he finds, a lot of nonsense, 
which willna’ put food in his mouth, nor clothe his 
back.” Mrs. Burns sighed deeply and sank into the 


14 HIGHLAND MARY 

low stool beside her spinning wheels he hands folded 
for once idly in her lap, and gave herself up to her 
disquieting thoughts. 

‘‘Ye can talk all ye like,” exclaimed Souter, 
who was ever ready with his advice, “ but Robert 
is too smart a lad to stay here for lang. He was 
never cut out for a farmer nae mair was I.” 

“ A farmer,” repeated Mrs. Burns, with a mirth- 
less little laugh. “ An’ what is there in a farmer’s 
life to pay for all the hardships he endures ” she 
asked bitterly. “ The constant grindin’ an’ end- 
less toil crushes all the life out o’ one in the struggle 
for existence. Remember your father, Gilbert,” 
and her voice broke at the flood of bitter recollection 
which crowded her thoughts. 

“ I have na forgotten him, mither,” replied Gil- 
bert quietly. “ Nor am I likely to, for my ain lot in 
life is nae better.” And pulling his cap down over 
his eyes, he went back to the window and gazed mood- 
ily out over the bare, rocky, profitless farm which 
must be made to yield them a living. There was si- 
lence for a time, broken only by the regular monoto- 
nous ticking of the old clock. After a time Mrs. 
Burns quietly left the room. 

“ Oh, laddie,” whispered Souter as the door closed 
behind her, coming up beside Gilbert, “ did ye hear 
the news that Tam O’Shanter brought frae Mauch- 
line?” 

“ Do you mean about Robert an’ some lassie 


HIGHLAND MARY 15 

there? ” inquired Gilbert indifferently, after a brief 
pause. 

“ Aye ! ” returned Souter impressively, “ but she’s 
nae common lass, Gilbert. She’s Squire Armour’s 
daughter Jean, called the Belle of Mauchline.” 

“ I ken it’s no serious,” replied Gilbert sarcas- 
tically, “ for ye ken Robert’s heart is like a tinder 
box, that flares up at the first whisper of passion,” 
and he turned away from the window and started for 
the door. 

“ I canna’ understand,” reflected Souter, “ how 
the lad could forget his sweetheart. Highland Mary, 
long enough to take up wi any ither lassie. They 
were mighty fond o’ each ither before he went awa’ a 
year ago. I can swear to that,” and he smiled 
reminiscently. 

A look of despair swept over Gilbert’s face at the 
idle words of the garrulous old man. He leaned 
heavily against the door, for there was a dull, aching 
pain at his heart of which he was physically conscious. 
For a few moments he stood there with white drawn 
face, trying hard to realize the bitter truth, that at 
last the day had come, as he had feared it must come, 
when he must step aside for the prodigal brother who 
would now claim his sweetheart. And she would go to 
him so gladly, he knew, without a single thought 
of his loneliness or his sorrow. But she was not to 
blame. It was only right that she should now be 
with her sweetheart, that he must say farewell to those 


16 HIGHLAND MARY 


blissful walks along the banks of the Doon which for 
almost a year he had enjoyed with Mary by his side. 
His stern, tense lips relaxed, and a faint smile soft- 
ened his rugged features. How happy he had been 
in his fool’s paradise. But he loved her so dearly 
that he had been content just to be with her, to listen 
to the sweetness of her voice as she prattled 
innocently and lovingly of her absent sweetheart. 
A snore from Souter, who had fallen asleep in his 
chair, roused him from the fond reverie into which he 
had fallen, and brought him back to earth with a start. 
With a bitter smile he told himself he had no right 
to complain. If he had allowed himself to fall in 
love with his brother’s betrothed, he alone was to 
blame, and he must suffer the consequence. Suddenly 
a wild thought entered his brain. Suppose — and his 
heart almost stopped beating at the thought — sup- 
pose Robert had grown to love someone else, while 
away, even better than he did Mary.? He had heard 
rumors of Robert’s many amourous escapades in 
Mauchline; then perhaps Mary would again turn to 
him for comfort. His eyes shone with renewed hope 
and his heart was several degrees lighter as he left 
the house. Going to the high knoll back of the cot- 
tage, he gazed eagerly, longingly, across the moor 
to where, in the hazy distance, the lofty turrets of 
Castle Montgomery, the home of the winsome dairy- 
maid, Mary Campbell, reared their heads toward the 
blue heavens. 


CHAPTER II 


Ye banks and braes and streams around 
The Castle of Montgomery, 

Green be your woods and fair your flowers. 

Your waters never drumlie. 

There summer first unfolds her robes. 

And there the langest tarry. 

For there I took the last farewell 
O’ my sweet Highland Mary. 

At the foot of the hill on which stood Castle Mont- 
gomery flowed the River Boon, winding and twist- 
ing itself through richly wooded scenery on its way 
to Ayr Bay. On the hillside of the stream stood the 
old stone dairy, covered with ivy and shaded by over- 
hanging willows. Within its cool, shady walls the 
merry lassies sang at their duties, with hearts as 
light and carefree as the birds that flew about the 
open door. Their duties over for the day, they had 
returned to their quarters in the long, low wing of 
the castle, and silence reigned supreme over the 
place, save for the trickling of the Doon splashing 
over the stones as it wended its tuneful way to join 
the waters of the Ayr. 

Suddenly the silence was broken; borne on the 
evening breeze came the sound of a sweet, high 
voice singing: 


17 


18 HIGHLAND MARY 


“Oh where and oh where is my Highland laddie gone,” 

sang the sweet singer, plaintively from the hilltop. 
Nearer and nearer it approached as the owner fol- 
lowed the winding path down to the river’s bank. 
Suddenly the drooping willows were parted, and there 
looked out the fairest face surely that mortal eyes 
had ever seen. 

About sixteen years of age, with ringlets of flaxen 
hair flowing unconfined to her waist, laughing blue 
eyes, bewitchingly overarched by dark eyebrows, a 
rosebud mouth, now parted in song, between two 
rounded dimpled cheeks, such was the bonnie face 
of Mary Campbell, known to all around as “ High- 
land Mary.” Removing her plaidie, which hung 
gracefully from one shoulder, she spread it on the 
mossy bank, and, casting herself down full length 
upon it, her head pillowed in her hand, she finished 
her song, lazily, dreamily, letting it die out, slowly, 
softly floating into nothingness. Then for a mo- 
ment she gave herself up to the mere joy of living, 
watching the leaves as they fell noiselessly into the 
stream and were carried away, away until they were 
lost to vision. Gradually her thoughts became more 
centered. That particular spot was full of sweet 
memories to her. It was here, she mused dreamily, 
that she and Robert had parted a year ago. It was 
here on the banks of the Boon they so often had 
met and courted and loved, and here it was they had 


HIGHLAND MARY 19 

stood hand in hand and plighted their troth, while 
the murmuring stream seemed to whisper softly, 
“For eternity, for all eternity.” And here in this 
sequestered spot, on that second Sunday of May, 
they had spent the day in taking a last farewell. 
Would she ever forget it.? Oh, the pain of that 
parting ! Her eyes filled with tears at the recollection 
of her past misery. But she brushed them quickly 
away with a corner of her scarf. He had promised to 
send for her when he was getting along well, and she 
had been waiting day after day for that summons, 
full of faith in his word. For had he not said as he 
pressed her to his heart: 

“ I hae sworn by the heavens to my Mary, 

I hae sworn by the heavens to be true. 

And so may the heavens forget me. 

When I forget my vow.” 

A whole year had passed. She had saved all 
her little earnings, and now her box was nearly filled 
with the linen which she had spun and woven with 
her own fair hands, for she did not mean to come dow- 
erless to her husband. In a few months, so he had 
written in his last letter, he would send for her to 
come to him, and they would start for the new 
country, America, where gold could be picked up in 
the streets (so she had heard it said). They could 
not help but prosper, and so the child mused on hap- 
pily. The sudden blast of a horn interrupted her 
sweet day dreams, and, hastily jum.ping to her feet. 


20 HIGHLAND MARY 


with a little ejaculation of dismay she tossed her 
plaidie over her back, and, filling her pail from the 
brook, swung it lightly to her strong young shoulder. 

“An’ it’s o’ in my heart, I wish him safe at home,” 

she trilled longingly, as she retraced her steps up the 
winding path, over the hill, and back to the kitchen, 
where, after giving the pail into the hand of Bess, the 
good-natured cook, she leaned against the lintel of the 
door, her hands shading her wistful eyes, and gazed 
long and earnestly off to where the sun was sinking 
behind the horizon in far-off Irvine. So wrapped was 
she in her thoughts she failed to hear the whistle of 
Rory Cam, the Posty, and the bustle and confusion 
which his coming had created within the kitchen. The 
sharp little shrieks and ejaculations of surprise and 
delight, however, caused her to turn her head inquir- 
ingly. Looking through the open door, she saw Bess 
in the center of a gaping crowd of servants, reading a 
letter, the contents of which had evoked the delight of 
her listeners. “ An’ he’ll be here this day,” cried Bess 
loudly, folding her letter. Where’s Mary Camp- 
bell? ” she demanded, looking around the room. 

‘‘ Here I am, Bess,” said Mary, standing shyly at 
the door. 

“ Hae ye heard the news, then, lassie? ” asked Bess, 
grinning broadly. 

“Nay; what news?” inquired Mary, wondering 
why they all looked at her so knowingly. 


HIGHLAND MARY 21 

“ I’ve just had word frae my sister in Irvine, an’ 

she said ” Here Bess paused impressively. 

“ She said that Rob Burns was burnt out o’ his place, 
an’ that he would be cornin’ hame to-day.” Bess, who 
had good-naturedly wished to surprise Mary, was 
quite startled to see her turn as white as a lily and 
stagger back against the door with a little gasp 
of startled surprise. 

“ Are ye sure, Bess ? ” she faltered, her voice shak- 
ing with eagerness. 

“ It’s true as Gospel, lassie ; I’ll read ye the 
letter,” and Bess started to take it out, but with 
a cry of joy Mary rushed through the door like a 
startled fawn, and before the astonished maids could 
catch their breath she had lightly vaulted over the 
hedge and was flying down the hill and over the moor 
toward Mossgiel farm with the speed of a swallow, 
her golden hair floating behind her like a cloud of 
glorious sunshine. On, on she sped, swift as the 
wind, and soon Mossgiel loomed up in the near dis- 
tance. Not stopping for breath, she soon reached 
the door, and without pausing to knock burst into the 
room. 

Mrs. Burns had put the house in order and, with a 
clean ’kerchief and cap on, sat patiently at her wheel, 
waiting for Robert to come home, while Souter quietly 
sat in the corner winding a ball of yarn from the 
skein which hung over the back of the chair, and 
looking decidedly sheepish. When Mary burst in 


22 HIGHLAND MARY 


the door so unceremoniously they both jumped 
expectantly to their feet, thinking surely it was 
Robert. 

“Why, Mary lass, is it ye?” said Mrs. Burns in 
surprise. “ Whatever brings ye over the day ? not 
but we are glad to have ye,” she added hospitably. 

“Where is he. Mistress Burns, where’s Robbie?” 
she panted excitedly, her heart in her voice. 

“ He isna’ here yet, lassie,” replied Mrs. Burns, 
with a sigh. “ But sit ye doon. Take off your 
plaidie and wait for him. There’s a girlie,” and she 
pushed the unresisting girl into a chair. 

“ Ye’re sure he isna’ here. Mistress Burns ? ” asked 
Mary wistfully, looking around the room with eager, 
searching eyes. 

“ Aye, lassie,” she replied, smiling ; “ if he were 
he wouldna’ be hidin’ from ye, dearie, and after 
a year of absence, too. But I ken he will be here 
soon noo.” And she went to the window and looked 
anxiously out across the moor. 

“ It seems so lang since he left Mossgiel, doesna’ 
it. Mistress Burns ? ” said Mary with a deep sigh of 
disappointment. 

“ An’ weel ye might say that,” replied Mrs. Burns. 
“ For who doesna’ miss my laddie,” and she tossed 
her head proudly. “ There isna’ another like Rob- 
bie in all Ayrshire. A bright, honest, upright, pure- 
minded lad, whom any mither might be proud of. 
I hope he’ll return to us the same laddie he was when 


HIGHLAND MARY 23 

he went awa’.” The anxious look returned to her 
comely face. 

An odd little smile appeared about the comers 
of Souter’s mouth as he resumed his work. 

“ Weel, noo, Mistress Burns,” he asked dryly, 
“ do ye expect a healthy lad to be out in this sin- 
ful world an’ not learn a few things he didna ken 
before.'* ’Tis only human nature,” continued the 
old rogue, “ an’ ye can learn a deal in a year, mind 
that, an’ that reminds me o’ a good joke. Sandy 
MacPherson ” 

“ Souter Johnny, ye keep your stories to yoursel’,” 
interrupted Mrs. Burns with a frown. Souter’s 
stories were not always discreet. 

“ Irvine and Mauchline are very gay towns,” con- 
tinued Souter reminiscently. They say some of 
the prettiest gurls of Scotian’ live there, an’ I hear 
they all love Robbie Burns, too,” he added slyly, 
looking at Mary out of the corner of his eye. 

‘‘ They couldna help it,” replied Mary sweetly. 

‘‘An’ ye’re nae jealous, Mary.?” he inquired in a 
surprised tone, turning to look into the flushed, shy 
face beside him. 

“ Jealous of Robert.? ” echoed Mary, opening her 
innocent eyes to their widest. “Nay! for I ken he 
loves me better than any other lassie in the world.” 
And she added naively, “ He has told me so oft- 
times.” 

“Ye needna fear, Mary,’^jfreplied Mrs. Burns, 


24 HIGHLAND MARY 


resuming her place at the wheel. “ I’ll hae no ither 
lass but ye for my daughter, depend on’t.” 

‘‘ Thank ye, Mistress Burns,” said Mary brightly. 
“ I ken I’m only a simple country lass, but I mean 
to learn all I can, so that when he becomes a great 
man he’U no be ashamed of me, for I ken he will be 
great some day,” she continued, her eyes flashing, 
the color coming and going in her cheek as she pre- 
dicted the future of the lad she loved. “ He’s a 
born poet. Mistress Burns, and some day ye’ll be 
proud of your lad, for genius such as Babbie’s 
canna always be hid.” Mrs. Burns gazed at the 
young girl in wonder. 

“ Oh, if someone would only encourage him,” con- 
tinued Mary earnestly, “for I’m fair sure his heart 
is set on rhyming.” 

“ I ne’er heard of a body ever makin’ money writin’ 
verses,” interposed Souter, rubbing his chin reflec- 
tively with the ball of soft yarn. 

“ Ah, me,” sighed Mrs. Burns, her hands idle for 
a moment, “ I fear the lad does but waste his time 
in such scribbling. Who is to hear it.? Only his 
friends, who are partial to him, of course, but who, 
alas, are as puir as we are, and canna assist him in 
bringin’ them before the public. The fire bums out 
for lack of fuel,” she continued slowly, watching the 
flickering sparks die one by one in the fireplace. “ So 
will his love of writin’ when he sees how hopeless it 
all is.” She paused and sighed deeply. “ He maun 


HIGHLAND MARY 25 

do mair than write verses to keep a wife and family 
from want,” she continued earnestly, and she looked 
sadly at Mary’s downcast face. “ And, Mary, ye 
too will hae to work, harder than ye hae ever known, 
even as I have ; so hard, dearie, that the heart grows 
sick and weary and faint in the struggle to keep the 
waif awa’.” 

“ I am no afraid of hard work,” answered Mary 
bravely, swallowing the sympathetic tears which rose 
to her eyes. “ If poverty is to be his portion I shall 
na shrink from sharin’ it wi’ him,” and her eyes 
shone with love and devotion. 

Mrs. Bums rose and put her arms lovingly about 
her. “ God bless ye, dearie,” she said softly, smooth- 
ing the tangled curls away from the broad low brow 
with tender, caressing fingers. 

“ Listen ! ” cried Mary, as the wail of the bag- 
pipes was heard in the distance. ’Tis old blind 
Donald,” and running to the window she threw back 
the sash with a cry of delight. “ Oh, how I love the 
music of the pipes ! ” she murmured passionately, and 
her sweet voice vibrated with feehng, for she thought 
of her home so far away in the Highlands and the 
dear ones she had not seen for so long. 

“ Isna he the merry one this day,” chuckled 
Souter, keeping time with his feet and hands, not 
heeding the yarn, which had slipped from the chair, 
and which was fast becoming entangled about his 
feet. 


26 HIGHLAND MARY 


“It’s fair inspirin’!” cried Mary, clapping her 
hands ecstatically. “ Doesna it take ye back to the 
Highlands, Souter.? ” she asked happily. 

“ Aye, lassie,” replied Souter. “ But it’s there 
among the hills and glens that the music of the 
pipes is most entrancin’,” he added loyally, for he 
was a true Highlander. The strains of the “ Cock 
of the North ” grew louder and louder as old Don- 
ald drew near the farm, and Mary, who could no 
longer restrain her joyous impulse, with a little ex- 
cited laugh, her face flushing rosily, ran to the 
center of the room, where, one hand on her hip, her 
head tossed back, she began to dance. Her motion 
was harmony itself as she gracefully swayed to and 
fro, darting here and there like some elfin sprite, 
her bare feet twinkling like will-o’-the-wisps, so 
quickly did they dart in and out from beneath her 
short plaid skirt. With words of praise they both 
encouraged her to do her best. 

Louder and louder the old piper blew, quicker and 
quicker the feet of the dancer sped, till, with a gasp 
of exhaustion, Mary sank panting into the big arm- 
chair, feeling very warm and very tired, but very 
happy. 

“Ye dance bonnie, dearie, bonnie,” exclaimed Mrs. 
Burns delightedly, pouring her a cup of tea, which 
Mary drank gratefully. 

“ Oh, dearie me,” Mary said apologetically, put- 
ting down her empty cup, “ whatever came o’er me ? 
I’m a gaucie wild thing this day, for true, but I 


HIGHLAND MARY 27 

canna held dancin’ when I hear the pipes,” and she 
smiled bashfully into the kind face bent over her. 

‘‘ Music affects me likewise,” replied Souter, try- 
ing to untangle the yarn from around his feet, but 
only succeeding in making a bad matter worse. 
“ Music always goes to my feet like whusky, only 
whusky touches me here first,” and he tapped his head 
humorously with his forefinger. 

“ Souter J ohnny, ye skellum ! ” cried Mrs. Burns, 
noticing for the first time the mischief he had 
wrought. “ Ye’re not worth your salt, ye ne’er-do- 
weel. Ye’ve spoiled my yarn,” and she glared at the 
crestfallen Souter with fire in her usually calm eye. 

“ It was an accident. Mistress Burns,” stammered 
Souter, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot 
to the other in his efforts to free himself from the per- 
sistent embrace of the clinging yarn. 

With no gentle hand Mrs. Burns shoved him into a 
chair and proceeded to extricate his feet from the 
tangled web which held him prisoner. Soon she freed 
the offending members and rose to her feet. Noo 
gang awa’,” she sputtered. “ Ye’ve vexed me sair. 
Gang out and help Gilbert. I canna bide ye round.” 
Souter took his Tam O’Shanter, which hung over the 
fireplace, and ambled to the door. 

“ Very weel,” he said meekly, “ I’ll go. Souter 
Johnny can take a hint as weel as the next mon,” 
and he closed the door gently behind him and slowly 
wended his way across the field to where Gilbert was 
sitting, dreamily looking across the moor. 


CHAPTER III 


“ Why doesna he come, Mistress Burns? ” said Mary 
pathetically. They had come down to the field where 
Gilbert was now at work the better to watch for their 
loved one’s approach. ‘‘ Twilight is cornin’ on an’ 
’tis a lang walk to Castle Montgomery at night. I 
canna wait much langer noo.” 

‘‘ Never ye mind, lassie ; ye shall stay the night 
with me,” replied Mrs. Burns soothingly, “ if Robert 
doesna come.” 

‘‘ I’ll take ye back, Mary,” said Gilbert eagerly, 
going up to her. Perhaps Robert was not coming 
after all, he thought with wildly beating heart. 

“ Thank ye, Gilbert, but I’ll wait a wee bit longer,” 
answered Mary hopefully ; “ perhaps he’ll be here 
soon,” and she dejectedly dug her bare toes into the 
damp earth. 

“ Well, lassie, I canna waste any mair time,” 
said Mrs. Burns energetically. “Ye can stay 
here with Gilbert, while I return to my spinning. 
Come, Souter, there’s some firewood to be split,” 
and she quickly walked to the house, followed more 
slowly by the reluctant Souter. 

Gilbert, with his soul in his eyes, feasted on the 
pathetic loveliness of the sweet face beside him, gaz- 
ing wistfully toward Mauchline, and his aching heart 


HIGHLAND MARY 29 

yearned to clasp her to his breast, to tell her of his 
love, to plead for her pity, her love, herself, for he 
felt he would rather die than give her up to another. 
He drew closer to her. 

“ What is the matter, Gilbert.^ ” asked Mary anx- 
iously, noting his pale face. “ Are ye in pain.?^ ” 

“ Aye, Mary, in pain,” he answered passionately. 
“ Such pain I’ll hope ye’ll never know.” He bowed 
his head. 

“ I’m so sorry, lad,” she replied innocently. “ I 
wish I could help ye,” and she looked compassion- 
ately at the suffering man. 

He raised his head suddenly and looked into her 
eyes. 

Are ye goin’ to marry Robert this summer, when 
he returns ? ” he asked abruptly, his voice husky with 
emotion. 

‘‘ Aye, if he wishes it,” answered Mary simply, 
wondering why he looked so strangely white. 

“ He has been gone a year, ye ken,” continued 
Gilbert hoarsely. ‘‘ Suppose he has changed and no 
langer loves ye.^^ ” She looked at him with big, fright- 
ened eyes. She had never thought of that possibility 
before. What if he did no longer love her.? she 
thought fearfully. She looked about her helplessly. 
She felt bewildered, dazed; slowly she sank down on 
the rocky earth, her trembling limbs refusing to sup- 
port her. Her fair head drooped pathetically, like 
a lily bent and bruised by the storm. 


30 HIGHLAND MARY 


“ If Robert doesna want me any more,” she mur- 
mured after a pause, a pathetic little catch in her 
voice, ‘‘ if he loves someone else better than he does 
his Highland Mary, then I — I ” 

“ Ye’ll soon forget him, Mary,” interrupted Gil- 
bert eagerly, his heart throbbing with hope. She 
raised her eyes from which all the light had flown 
and looked at him sadly, reproachfully. 

‘‘ Nay, lad, I wouldna care to live any longer,” 
she said quietly. “ My heart would just break,” 
and she smiled a pitiful little smile which smote him 
like a knife thrust. He caught her two hands in 
his passionately and pressed them to his heart with 
a cry of pain. 

“ Dinna mind what I said, lass,” he cried, con- 
science stricken ; “ dinna look like that. I dinna 
mean to grieve ye, Mary, I love ye too well.” And 
almost before he realized it he had recklessly, passion- 
ately, incoherently told her of his love for her, his 
jealousy of his brother, his grief and pain at losing 
her. Mary gazed at him in wonder, scarcely under- 
standing his wild words, his excited manner. 

“ I’m fair pleased that ye love me, Gilbert,” she 
answered him in her innocence. “ Ye ken I love ye 
too, for ye’ve been so kind and good to me ever 
since Robert has been awa’,” and she pressed his 
hand affectionately. With a groan of despair he 
released her and turned away without another word. 
Suddenly she understood, and a great wave of sym- 


HIGHLAND MARY 31 

pathy welled up in her heart. “ Oh, Gilbert,” she 
cried sorrowfully, a world of compassion in her 
voice. ‘‘ I understand ye noo, laddie, an’ I’m so 
sorry, so sorry.” He bit his lips till the blood came. 
Finally he spoke in a tone of quiet bitterness. 

“ I’ve been living in a fool’s paradise this past 
year,” he said, “ but ’tis all ended noo. Why, ever 
since he went awa’ I have wished, hoped, and even 
prayed that Rob would never return to Mossgiel, 
that ye might forget him and his accursed poetry, 
and in time would become my wife.” He threw out 
his hands with a despairing gesture as he finished. 

“ Oh, Gilbert,” she faltered, with tears in her 
eyes, “ I never dreamed ye thought of me in that 

way. Had I only known, I ” she broke off 

abruptly and looked away toward the cottage. 

“Ye see what a villain I have been,” he con- 
tinued with a bitter smile. “ But ye have nothin’ 
to blame yoursel’ for, Mary. I had no right to 
think of ye ither than as Robert’s betrothed wife.” 

“ I’m so sorry, lad,” repeated Mary compassion- 
ately. Then her downcast face brightened. “Let 
us both forget what has passed this day, and be 
the same good friends as ever, wi’na we, Gilbert.?” 
And she held out her hand to him with her old win- 
ning smile. 

“ God bless ye, lassie,” he replied brokenly. Quietly 
they stood there for a few minutes, then with a sud- 
den start they realized that deep twilight had fallen 


32 HIGHLAND MARY 


Upon them. Silently, stealthily it had descended, 
like a quickly drawn curtain. Slowly they wended 
their way back to the cottage. When they reached 
the door Mary suddenly turned and peered into the 
deepening twilight. 

“ Listen ! ” she said breathlessly. “ Dinna ye hear 
a voice, Gilbert ” He listened for a minute. 
Faintly there came on the still air the distant mur- 
mur of many voices. 

“ ’Tis only the lads on their way to the village,” 
he replied quietly. With a little shiver, Mary drew 
her plaidie closely about her, for the air had grown 
cool. 

“ I think I’ll hae to be goin’ noo,” she said de- 
jectedly. “ He willna be here this night.” 

“ Very well,” answered Gilbert. “ I’ll saddle the 
mare and take ye back. Bide here a wee,” and he 
left her. She could hardly restrain the disappointed 
tears, which rose to her eyes. 

Why didn’t Robert come.?’ What could keep him 
so late.f^ She so longed to see her laddie once more. 
She idly wondered why the lads, whose voices she now 
heard quite plainly, were coming toward Mossgiel. 
There was no inn hereabouts. By the light of the 
rising moon she saw them on the moor, ever drawing 
nearer and nearer, but they had no interest for her. 
Nothing interested her now. She leaned back against 
the wall of the cottage and patiently awaited Gil- 
bert’s return. 


HIGHLAND MARY 33 

“ He’s cornin’ ! he’s coinin’ 1 ” suddenly exclaimed 
the voice of Mrs. Burns from within the cottage. 
‘‘ My lad is cornin’ ! Out of my way, ye skellum ! ” 
and out she ran, her face aglow with love and ex- 
citement, followed by Souter, who was shouting glee- 
fully, “ He’s cornin’ ! he’s cornin’ ! Robbie’s cornin’ ! ” 
and off he sped in her footsteps, to meet the returned 
wanderer. 

“ It’s Robbie! it’s Robbie! ” cried Mary joyously, 
her nerves a-quiver, as she heard the vociferous out- 
burst of welcome from the lads, who were bringing 
him in triumph to his very door. 

“ Welcome hame, laddie ! ” shouted the crowd, as 
they came across the field, singing, laughing and 
joking like schoolboys on a frolic. 

“ Oh, I canna’, I darena’ meet him before them a’,” 
she exclaimed aloud, blushing rosily, frightened at the 
thought of meeting him before the good-natured 
country folk. 

She would wait till they all went away, and, turn- 
ing, she ran into the house like a timid child. Quickly 
she hid behind the old fireplace, listening shyly, as 
she heard them approach the open door. 

‘‘ Thank ye, lads, for your kind welcome,” said 
Robert as he reached the threshold, one arm around 
his mother. “ I didna’ ken I had left so many friends 
in Mossgiel,” and he looked around gratefully at the 
rugged faces that were grinning broadly into his. 

“ Come doon to the Inn and hae a wee nippie for 


34 HIGHLAND MARY 


auld lang syne,’’ sang out Sandy MacPherson, with 
an inviting wave of the hand. 

‘‘Nay, an’ he’ll not gang a step, Sandy Mac- 
Pherson,” cried Mrs. Burns indignantly, clinging 
closely to her son. 

“ Nay, I thank ye, Sandy,” laughingly replied 
Robert. “Ye must excuse me to-night. I’ll see ye 
all later, and we’ll have a lang chat o’er auld times.” 

“ Come awa’ noo, Robert,” said Mrs. Burns lov- 
ingly, “ an’ I’ll get ye a bite and a sup,” and she 
drew him into the house. 

“ Good-night, lads ; I’ll see ye to-morrow,” he 
called back to them cheerily. 

“ Good-night,” they answered in a chorus, and 
with “ three cheers for Robbie Burns ” that made the 
welkin ring, they departed into the night, merrily 
singing “Should auld acquaintance be forgot?” a 
song Robert himself had written before leaving 
Mossgiel. 



CHAPTER IV 


Ah, Souter Johnny, how are ye, mon? ” cried Rob- 
ert heartily, as his eyes rested on the beaming face of 
the old man. “ F aith, an’ I thought I’d find ye here 
as of old. ’Tis almost a fixture ye are.” 

Ah, weel,” replied Souter nonchalantly, as he 
shook Robert’s outstretched hand, “ ye ken the 
Scripture says, ‘ an’ the poor ye have always wi’ 
ye.’ ” Robert laughed merrily at the old man’s 
sally. 

“ Thank goodness, they’ve gone at last,” said Mrs. 
Bums with a sigh of relief, as she entered the room. 
‘‘ Why, laddie, ye had half the ne’er-do-weels of Moss- 
giel a-f olio wing ye. They are only a lot of leeches 
and idle brawlers, that’s a’,” and her dark eyes 
flashed her disapproval. 

‘‘I’m sure they have kind hearts, mither, for a’ 
that,” replied Robert reproachfully. 

“ Ye’re so popular wi’ them a’, Robbie,” cried 
Souter proudly. 

“ Aye, when he has a shillin’ to spend on them,” 
added Mrs. Burns dryly. “ But sit doon, laddie ; 
ye maun be tired wi’ your lang walk,” and she gently 
pushed him into a chair beside the table. 

“ I am a wee bittie tired,” sighed Robert grate- 
fully as he leaned back in the chair. 

35 


36 HIGHLAND MARY 

“ I’ll soon hae something to eat before ye,” replied 
his mother briskly. 

“ I’m nae hungry, mother,” answered Robert. 
“ Indeed, I couldna’ eat a thing,” he remonstrated 
as she piled the food before him. 

’Tis in love ye are,” insinuated Souter with a 
knowing look. “ I ken the symptoms weel ; ye canna’ 
eat.” 

“ Ye’re wrong there,” replied Robert with a bright 
smile. “ Love but increases my appetite.” 

“ Aye, for love,” added Souter sotto voce. 

Ah, mother dear, how guid it seems to be at hame 
again, under the old familiar roof-tree,” said Robert 
a httle later, as he leaned back contentedly in his 
chair and gazed about the room with eager, alert 
glances. As he sits there with his arms folded let 
us take a look at our hero. Of more than medium 
height, his form suggested agility as well as strength. 
His high forehead, shaded with black curling hair 
tied at the neck, indicated extensive capacity. His 
eyes were large, dark, and full of fire and intelligence. 
His face was well formed and uncommonly interest- 
ing and expressive, although at the first glance his 
features had a certain air of coarseness, mingled with 
an expression of calm thoughtfulness, approaching 
melancholy. He was dressed carelesslv in a blue 
homespun long coat, belted at the waist, over a buff- 
colored vest ; short blue pantaloons, tucked into long 
gray home-knit stockings, which came up above his 


HIGHLAND MARY 37 

knee, and broad low brogans, made by Souter’s hands. 
He wore a handsome plaid of small white and black 
checks over one shoulder, the ends being brought 
together under the opposite arm and tied loosely 
behind. 

‘‘ ’Tis a fine hame-comin’ ye’ve had, laddie,” cried 
old Souter proudly. “ Faith, it’s just like they 
give the heir of grand estates. We should hae had 
a big bonfire burnin’ outside our — ahem — palace 
gates,” and he waved his hand grandiloquently. 

“ Dinna’ ye make fun of our poor clay biggin’, 
Souter Johnny,” cried Mrs. Bourns rebukingly. “ Be 
it ever so poor, ’tis our hame.” 

“ Aye, ’tis our hame, mother,” repeated Robert 
lovingly. An’ e’en tho’ I have been roaming in 
other parts, still this humble cottage is the dearest 
spot on earth to me. I love it all, every stick and 
stone, each blade of grass, every familiar object that 
greeted my eager gaze as I crossed the moor to this 
haven of rest, my hame. And my love for it this 
moment is the strongest feeling within me.” 

His roving eyes tenderly sought out one by one 
the familiar bits of furniture around the room, and 
lingered for a moment lovingly on the old fireplace. 
It was there he had first seen Mary Campbell. She 
had come to the cottage on an errand, and as she 
stood leaning against the mantel, the sunlight gleam- 
ing through the window upon her golden hair, he 
had entered the room. It was plainly love at first 


38 HIGHLAND MARY 

sight, and so he had told her that same day, as he 
walked back to Castle Montgomery with the winsome 
dairymaid. The course of their love had flowed 
smoothly and uneventfully; he loved her with all the 
depth of his passionate emotional nature, and yet 
his love was more spiritual than physical. She was 
an endless source of inspiration, as many a little song 
and ode which had appeared in the Tarbolton weekly 
from time to time could testify. How long the 
year had been away from her, he mused dreamily. 
To-morrow, bright and early, he would hurry over 
to Castle Montgomery and surprise her at her 
duties. 

Mary, from her hiding place, had watched all that 
happened since Robert had come into the room. 
She had not expected to remain so long hidden, she 
thought wistfully. She had hoped that Mrs. Burns 
would miss her, and that she, or Robert, or some- 
one would look for her, but they had not even 
thought of her, and her lips trembled pitiously at 
their neglect. And so she had stayed on, peeping out 
at them, whenever their backs were turned, feeling 
very lonely, and very miserable, in spite of the pride 
that thrilled her, as she watched her lover sitting 
there so handsome in the full strength of his young 
manhood. Perhaps they didn’t want her here to- 
night. Perhaps it was true, as Gilbert said, “ that 
Robert didn’t love her any more.” The tears could 
no longer be restrained. If she could only slip out 



*‘Gazed straight into the startled eyes of Robert. 



HIGHLAND MARY 39 

unobserved she would go home. She wasn’t afraid, 
she thought miserably. She wondered what they 
were doing now, they were so quiet? Peering shyly 
around the mantel, she gazed straight into the 
startled eyes of Robert, who with a surprised ejacu- 
lation started back in amazement. 

“ Why, Mary Campbell ! ” cried his mother re- 
morsefully, as she caught sight of Mary’s face, “ I 
declare I clear forgot ye, lass.” With a glad cry 
Robert sprang toward her and grasped her two hands 
in his own, his eyes shining with love and happiness. 

“Mary, lass, were ye hidin’ awa’ from me?” he 
asked in tender reproach. She dropped her head 
bashfully without a word. “ ’Tis o’er sweet in ye, 
dear, to come over to welcome me hame,” he con- 
tinued radiantly. “ Come an’ let me look at ye,” and 
he drew her gently to where the candle light could 
fall on her shy, flushed face. “ Oh, ’tis bonnie ye’re 
looking, lassie,” he cried proudly. He raised her 
drooping head, so that his hungry eyes could 
feast on her beauty. She stood speechless, like a 
frightened child, not daring to raise her eyes to his. 
“ Haven’t ye a word of welcome for me, sweet- 
heart? ” he whispered tenderly, drawing her to him 
caressingly. 

“ I’m — I’m very glad to hae ye back again,” she 
faltered softly, her sweet voice scarcely audible. 

“ Go an’ kiss him, Mary ; dinna’ mind us,” cried 
Souter impatiently. “ I can see ye’re both asking 


40 HIGHLAND MARY 

for it wi’ your eyes,” he insinuated. And he drew 
near them expectantly. 

“ Hauld your whist, ye old tyke,” flashed Mrs. 
Burns indignantly. “ Robbie Burns doesna’ need ye 
to tell him how to act wi’ the lassies.” 

“ I’ll not dispute ye there,” replied Souter dryly, 
winking his eye at Robert knowingly. 

Robert laughed merrily as he answered, “Ye ken 
we’re both o’er bashful before ye a’.” 

“ Ah, ye’re a fine pair of lovers, ye are,” retorted 
Souter disgustedly, turning away. 

“ So the neighbors say, Souter,” responded Rob- 
ert gayly, giving Mary a loving little squeeze. 

And surely there never was a handsomer couple, 
thought Mistress Burns proudly, as they stood there 
together. One so dark, so big and strong, the other 
so fair, so fragile and winsome. And so thought 
Gilbert Burns jealously, as he came quietly into the 
room. Robert went to him quickly, a smile light- 
ing up his dark face, his hand outstretched in 
greeting. 

“ I’m o’er glad to see ye again, Gilbert,” he cried 
impulsively, shaking his brother’s limp hand. 

“ So ye’ve come back again,” said Gilbert, coldly. 

“ Aye, like a bad penny,” laughingly responded 
Robert. “ Noo that I am burned out of my situa- 
tion, I’ve come hame to help ye in the labors of the 
farm,” and he pressed his brother’s hand warmly. 

“ I fear your thoughts willnq,’ Jang be on farm- 


HIGHLAND MARY 41 

ing,” observed Gilbert sarcastically, going to the 
fireplace and deliberately turning his back to Robert. 

“ I’ll struggle hard to keep them there, brother,” 
replied Robert simply. His brother’s coldness had 
chilled his extraordinarily sensitive nature. He 
walked slowly back to his seat. 

“ I ken ye’d rather be writin’ love verses than 
farmin’, eh, Robert?” chimed in Souter thought- 
lessly. 

“ ’Tis only a waste of time writin’ poetry, my lad,” 
sighed Mrs. Bums, shaking her head disapprovingly. 

“ I canna’ help writin’, mother,” answered the lad 
firmly, a trifle defiantly. “ For the love of poesy 
was born in me, and that love was fostered at your 
ain knee ever since my childhood days.” 

She sighed regretfully. “ I didna’ ken what seed 
I was sowing then, laddie,” she answered thought- 
fully. 

“ Dinna’ be discouraged,” cried Mary eagerly, 
going to him. “ I’ve faith in ye, laddie, and in 
your poetry, too.” She put her hand on his shoul- 
der lovingly, as he sat beside the table, looking 
gloomy and dejected. “ Some day,” she continued, 
a thrill of pride in her voice, “ ye’ll wake to find 
your name on everybody’s lips. You’ll be rich and 
famous, mayhap. Who kens, ye may even become 
the Bard o’ Scotland,” she concluded in an awe- 
struck tone. 

Nay, Mary, I do not hope for that,” replied 


42 HIGHLAND MARY 


Robert, his dark countenance relaxing into a smile 
of tenderness at her wild prophecy, although in his 
own heart he felt conscious of superior talents. 

‘‘ Waesucks,” chuckled Souter reminiscently. Do 
you mind, Robbie, how, a year ago, ye riled up the 
community, an’ the kirk especially, over your verses 
called ‘ Holy Willie’s Prayer ’? Aye, lad, it was an 
able keen satire, and auld Squire Armour recognized 
the truth of it, for he threatened to hae ye arrested 
for blaspheming the kirk and the auld licht religion. 
He’ll ne’er forgive ye for that,” and he shook his 
head with conviction. 

“ He’s an auld Calvinistic hypocrite,” replied Rob- 
ert carelessly, ‘‘ and he deserved to be satirized alang 
wi’ the rest of the Elders. Let us hope the verses 
may do them and the kirk some good. They are 
sadly in need of reform.” Then with a gay laugh 
he told them a funny anecdote concerning one of 
the Elders, and for over an hour they listened to 
the rich tones of his voice as he entertained them 
with jest and song and story, passing quickly from 
one to the other, as the various emotions succeeded 
each other in his mind, assuming with equal ease the 
expression of the broadest mirth, the deepest melan- 
choly or the most sublime emotion. They sat around 
him spellbound. Never had they seen him in such 
a changeable mood as to-night. 

“ And noo, laddie, tell us about your life in Irvine 
and Mauchline,” said Mrs. Burns. 


HIGHLAND MARY 43 

Robert had finished his last story, and sat in medi- 
tative silence, watching the smoldering peat in the 
fireplace. 

He hesitated for a moment. “ There is little to 
tell, mother,” he answered, not looking up, and that 
little is na worth tellin’.” 

“ I ken ye’ve come back no richer in pocket than 
when ye left,” remarked Gilbert questioningly. As 
his brother made no answer, he continued with sar- 
castic irony, “ But perhaps there wasna’ enough 
work for ye there.” He watched his brother’s face 
narrowly. 

‘‘ There was work enough for a’,” replied Robert 
in a low tone, an agony of remorse in his voice. “ An’ 
I tried to fulfill faithfully the uncongenial tasks set 
before me, but I would sink into dreams, forgetting 
my surroundings, my duties, and would set me doon 
to put on paper the thoughts and fancies which came 
rushing through my brain, raging like so many devils, 
till they found vent in rhyme; then the conning o’er 
my verses like a spell soothed all into quiet again.” 
A far away rapt expression came over his counte- 
nance as he finished, and his dark glowing eyes 
gazed dreamily into space, as if communing with 
the Muses. Mrs. Burns and Mary both watched him 
with moist, adoring eyes, hardly breathing lest they 
should disturb his reverie. Gilbert stirred in his 
chair restlessly. 

“Ye will never prosper unless ye give up this day 


44 HIGHLAND MARY 

dreaming,” he exclaimed impatiently, rising from his 
chair and pacing the floor. 

Robert looked up, the fire fading from his eyes, 
his face growing dark and forbidding. “ I ken that 
weel, Gilbert,” he answered bitterly. “ An’ I de- 
spair of ever makin’ anything of mysel’ in this world, 
not e’en a poor farmer. I am not formed for the 
bustle of the busy nor the flutter of the gay. I’m 
but an idle rhymster, a ne’er-do-weel.” He walked 
quickly to the window and stood dejectedly looking 
out into the night. 

“ Nay, ye’re a genius, lad,” declared old S outer 
emphatically, patting him affectionately on the 
shoulder. ‘‘ I ha vena’ watched your erratic ways for 
nothin’, an’ I say ye’re a genius. It’s a sad thing to 
be a genius, Robert, an’ I sympathize wi’ ye,” and the 
old hypocrite shook his head dolefully as he took his 
seat at the fireplace. 

“ I’m a failure, I ken that weel. I’m a failure,” 
muttered Robert despairingly, his heart heavy and 
sad. 

“ Nay, laddie, ye mustna’ talk like that, ’tis not 
right,” cried Mary, bravely keeping back the sym- 
pathetic tears from her eyes and forcing a little 
smile to her lips. ‘‘Ye are only twenty-five,” she 
continued earnestly. “ An’ all your life is stretch- 
in’ out before ye. Why, ye mustna ever think o’ 
failure. Ye must think only of bright, happy things, 
and ye’ll see how everythin’ will come out all right. 


HIGHLAND MARY 45 

Noo mind that. So cheer thee, laddie, or ye’ll make 
us all sad on this your hame-comin’. Come, noo, 
look pleasant,” and she gave his arm a loving little 
shake. As his stem face melted into a sad smile, 
she laughed happily. “ That’s right, laddie.” With 
a little encouraging nod she left him, and running 
to Mrs. Burns, she gave her a hug and a kiss, until 
the old lady’s grim features relaxed. Then like a 
bird she flitted to the other side of the room. 

“ Souter J ohnny,” she saucily cried, “ how dare 
ye look so mournful like. Hae ye a fit o’ the gloom, 
man? ” 

“Not a bit o’ it,” retorted Souter energetically, 
jumping lightly to his feet. “ Will I stand on my 
head for ye, Mary, eh? ” 

Mary laughed merrily as Mrs. Burns replied in 
scathing tones, “ Your brains are in your boots, noo, 
Souter Johnny.” 

“ Weel, wherever they are,” responded Souter with 
a quizzical smile, “ they dinna’ trouble me o’er much. 
Weel, I think I’ll be turnin’ in noo,” he continued, 
stretching himself lazily. “ Good-night to ye all,” 
and taking a candle from the dresser, he slowly left 
the room. 

“ Come, lads, ’tis bedtime,” admonished Mrs. 
Burns, glancing at the old high clock that stood in 
the corner. “ Mary, ye shall sleep with me, and, 
Robert, ye know where to find your bed. It hasna’ 
been slept in since ye left. Dinna’ forget your 


46 HIGHLAND MARY 

candle, Gilbert,” she called out as he started for the 
door. He silently took it from her hand. “ Dinna’ 
forget your promise,” she whispered anxiously to him 
as he left the room in gloomy silence. 

The look on his face frightened her. There was 
bitterness and despair in the quick glance he gave 
the happy lovers, who were standing in the shadow 
of the deep window. “ The lad looked fair heart- 
broken,” she mused sorrowfully. For a moment she 
looked after him, a puzzled frown on her brow. 
Then suddenly the truth dawned on her. How blind 
she had been, why hadn’t she thought of that before.? 
The lad was in love. In love with Mary Campbell, 
that was the cause of his bitterness toward his 
brother. “ Both in love with the same lass,” she 
murmured apprehensively, and visions of petty mean- 
nesses, bitter discords, between the two brothers, 
jealous quarrels, resulting in bloody strife, perhaps; 
and she shuddered at the mental picture her uneasy 
mind had conjured up. The sooner Robert and 
Mary were married the sooner peace would be 
restored, she thought resolutely. They could start 
out for themselves, go to Auld Ayr or to Dumfries. 
They couldn’t be much worse off there than here. 
And determined to set her mind easy before she re- 
tired, she walked briskly toward the couple, who now 
sat hand in hand, oblivious to earthly surroundings, 
the soft moonlight streaming full upon their happy 
upturned faces. She watched them a moment in si- 


HIGHLAND MARY 47 

lence, loath to break in upon their sweet communion. 
Presently she spoke. 

Robert,” she called softly, “ ye’d better gang to 
your bed noo, lad.” 

With a start he came back to earth, and jumping 
up boyishly, replied with a happy laugh, “ I forgot, 
mother, that I was keeping ye and Mary from your 
rest.” He glanced toward the recessed bed in the 
wall where his mother was wont to sleep. “ Good- 
night, mither, good-night, Mary,” he said lovingly. 
Then taking his candle, he started for the door, but 
turned as his mother called his name and looked at 
her questioningly. 

“Laddie, dinna’ think I’m meddling in your af- 
fairs,” she said hesitatingly, “ but I’m fair curious 
to know when ye an’ Mary will be wed.” 

Robert looked inquiringly at Mary, who blushed 
and dropped her head. “ Before harvest begins, 
mither,” he answered hopefully, “ if Mary will be 
ready and willing. Will that suit ye, lassie? ” And 
he looked tenderly at the drooping head, covered with 
its wealth of soft, glittering curls. 

“ I hae all my linen spun and woven,” she faltered, 
after a nervous silence, not daring to look at him. 
“ Ye ken the lassies often came a rockin’ and so helped 
me get it done.” She raised her head and looked in 
his glowing face. “ ’Tis a very small dowry I’ll be 
bringin’ ye, laddie,” she added in pathetic earnestness. 

He gave a httle contented laugh. “ Ye’re bring- 


48 HIGHLAND MARY 

in’ me yoursel’, dearie,” he murmured tenderly. 
‘‘ What mair could any lad want. I ken I do not 
deserve such a bonnie sweet sonsie lassie for my wife.” 
He looked away thoughtfully for a moment. Then 
he continued with glowing eyes, “ But ye mind the 
verse o’ the song I gave ye before I went awa’.f^” 
he said lovingly, taking her hand in his. His voice 
trembled with feeling as he fervently recited the 
lines : 

“ We have plighted our troth, my Mary, 

In mutual affection to join. 

And cursed be the cause that shall part us. 

The hour and moment o’ time.” 

She smiled confidingly up into his radiant face, 
then laid her little head against his breast like a 
tired child. “ Always remember, sweetheart,” he 
continued softly, as if in answer to that look, that 
Robbie Burns’ love for his Highland Mary will re- 
main forever the tenderest, truest passion of his un- 
worthy life.” 


CHAPTER V 


Life at Mossgiel passed uneventfully and monot- 
onously. Robert had settled down with every ap- 
pearance of contentment to the homely duties of 
the farmer, and Gilbert could find no fault with 
the amount of labor done. Morning till night he 
plowed and harrowed the rocky soil, without a 
word of complaint, although the work was very hard 
and laborious. Planting had now begun and his 
tasks were materially lightened. He had ample 
leisure to indulge in his favorite pastime; and that 
he failed to take advantage of his opportunities for 
rhyming was a mystery to Gilbert, and a source of 
endless regret to Mary. But his mother could tell of 
the many nights she had seen the candle light gleam- 
ing far into the night; and her heart was sore 
troubled when in the morning she would see the evi- 
dence of his midnight toil, scraps of closely written 
paper scattered in wild disorder over his small table, 
but she held her peace. The lad loved to do it, she 
mused tenderly, and so long as he was not shirking his 
work, why disturb his tranquillity? 

A few weeks after the return of our hero Mary 
and Mrs. Burns were seated in the living-room, 
Mrs. Burns as usual busy at her wheel, while Mary 
49 


50 HIGHLAND MARY 


sat sewing at the window, where she could look out 
across the fields and see her sweetheart, who, with 
a white sheet containing his seed corn slung across 
his shoulder, was scattering the grain in the earth. 
She sang dreamily as she sewed, her sweet face beam- 
ing with love and happiness. No presentiment 
warned her of the approaching tragedy that was 
soon to cast its blighting shadow over that happy 
household — a tragedy that was inevitable. The 
guilty one had sown to the flesh, he must reap corrup- 
tion. The seed had been sown carelessly, recklessly, 
and now the harvest time had come, and such a har- 
vest ! The pity of it was that the grim reaper must 
with his devouring sickle ruthlessly cut down such a 
tender, sweet, and innocent flower as she who sat 
there so happy and so blissfully unconscious of her 
impending doom. 

Suddenly, with an exclamation of astonishment, she 
jumped excitedly to her feet. Mistress Burns,” 
she cried breathlessly, “ here are grand lookin’ 
strangers cornin’ up the path. City folk, too, I 
ken. Look.” 

Hastily the good dame ran to the window. “ Sure 
as death, Mary ; they’re cornin’ here,” she cried in 
amazement. “ Oh, lack a day, an’ I’m na dressed 
to receive the gentry.” A look of comical dismay 
clouded her anxious face as she hurriedly adjusted 
her cap and smoothed out her apron. “ Is my cap 
on straight, Mary.? ” she nervously inquired. Mary 


HIGHLAND MARY 51 

nodded her head reassuringly. “ Oh, dear, whatever 
can they want.?” Steps sounded without. Ye 
open the door, Mary,” she whispered sibilantly as 
the peremptory knock sounded loudly through the 
room. Timidly Mary approached the door. “ Hist, 
wait,” called Mrs. Burns in sudden alarm. “ My ’ker- 
chief isna’ pinned.” Hastily she pinned the loose end 
in place, then folding her hands, she said firmly, “ Noo 
let them enter.” Mary slowly opened the door, which, 
swinging inward, concealed her from the three 
strangers, who entered with ill-concealed impatience 
on the part of the two ladies who were being laugh- 
ingly chided by their handsome escort. With a 
wondering look of admiration at the richly dressed 
visitors, Mary quietly stole out and softly shut the 
door behind her. 

With a murmur of disgust the younger of the two 
ladies, who was about nineteen, walked to the fire- 
place, and raising her quilted blue petticoat, which 
showed beneath the pale pink overdress with its Wat- 
teau plait, she daintily held her foot to the blaze. 
A disfiguring frown marred the dark beauty of 
her face as her bold black eyes gazed about her 
impatiently. 

‘‘ It’s a monstrous shame,” she flashed angrily, 
to have an accident happen within a few miles of 
home. Will it delay us long, think you.? ” she 
inquired anxiously, addressing her companion. 

“ It depends on the skill of the driver to repair 


52 HIGHLAND MARY 

the injury,” replied the other lady indifferently. 
She appeared the elder of the two by some few years, 
and was evidently a lady of rank and fashion. She 
looked distinctly regal and commanding in her large 
Gainsborough hat tilted on one side of her elabo- 
rately dressed court wig. A look of amused curiosity 
came over her patrician face as she calmly surveyed 
the interior of the cottage. She inclined her head 
graciously to Mrs. Burns, who with a deep courtesy 
stood waiting their pleasure. 

“We have just met with an accident, guidwife,” 
laughingly said the gentleman, who stood in the 
doorway brushing the dust from his long black 
cloak. He was a scholarly looking man of middle 
age, dressed in the height of taste and fashion. 
“ While crossing the old bridge yonder,” he con- 
tinued, smiling courteously at Mrs. Burns, “ our 
coach had the misfortune to cast a wheel, spilling us 
all willy-nilly, on the ground, and we must crave 
your hospitality, guidwife.” 

“ Ye are a’ welcome,” quickly answered Mrs. 
Burns with another courtesy. “ Sit doon, please,” 
and she placed a chair for the lady, who languidly 
seated herself thereon with a low murmur of thanks. 

“ Allow me to introduce myself.” continued the 
gentleman, coming into the room, his cloak over 
his arm. “ 1 am Lord Glencairn of Edinburgh. 
This is Lady Glencairn, and yonder lady is Mistress 
Jean Armour of Mauchline.” 


HIGHLAND MARY 53 

The young lady in question, who was still stand- 
ing by the fireplace, flashed him a look of decided 
annoyance. She seemed greatly perturbed at the 
enforced delay of the journey. She started vio- 
lently as she heard Mrs. Burns say, ‘‘ And I am 
Mrs. Burns, your lordship.” Then she hurried to 
the old lady’s side, a startled look in her flashing eyes. 

“ Mistress Burns of Mossgiel Farm ? ” she inquired 
in a trembling voice. 

“ Yes, my lady,” replied Mrs. Burns. The young 
lady’s face went white as she walked nervously back 
to the fireplace. 

“ My dear Jean, whatever is the matter"? ” asked 
Lardy Glencairn lazily, as she noticed Jean’s pertur- 
bation. “ Is there anything in the name of Bums to 
frighten you? ” 

“ No, your ladyship,” replied Jean falteringly, 
turning her face away so that her large Gains- 
borough hat completely shielded her quivering fea- 
tures. “ I — I am still a trifle nervous from the 
upset, that is all.” She seemed strangely agitated. 

“ Was it not unlucky? ” replied Lady Glencairn 
in her rich vibrating contralto. ’Twill be a most 
wearisome wait, I fear, but we simply must endure it 
with the best possible grace,” and she unfastened her 
long cloak of black velvet and threw it off her 
shoulders, revealing her matchless form in its tightly 
fitting gown of amber satin, with all its alluring 
lines and sinuous curves, to the utmost advantage. 


54 


HIGHLAND MARY 


“ It willna’ be long noo, your ladyship,” replied 
Mrs. Bums, smiling complacently. She had quietly 
left the room while the two were talking, and see- 
ing Souter hovering anxiously around, trying to 
summon up courage to enter, she had commanded 
him to go to the fields and tell the lads of the acci- 
dent, which he had reluctantly done. 

“ My lads will soon fix it for ye,” she continued 
proudly. “ Robert is a very handy lad, ye ken. He 
is my eldest son, who has just returned from Mauch- 
line,” she explained loquaciously in answer to Lord 
Glencairn’s questioning look. 

Jean nervously clutched at the neck of her gown, 
her face alternately flushing and paling. ‘‘ Your 
son is here now.^^ ” she asked eagerly, turning to Mrs. 
Burns. 

“ Aye, he’s out yonder in the fields,” she answered 
simply. 

“ Oh, then you know the young man ? ” inter- 
rogated Lady Glencairn, glancing sharply at Jean. 

“ Yes, I know him,” she answered with averted 
gaze. “We met occasionally in Mauchline at danc- 
ing school, where we fell acquainted.” 

Lady Glencairn looked at her with half-closed eyes 
for a moment, then she smilingly said, “ And I’ll 
wager your love for coquetting prompted you 
to make a conquest of the innocent rustic, eh, 
Jean.? ” 

Jean tossed her head angrily and walked to the 
window. 


55 


HIGHLAND MARY 

“ Lady Glencairn, you are pleased to jest,” she re- 
torted haughtily. 

“ There, there, Jean, you’re over prudish. I vow 
’twould be no crime,” her ladyship calmly returned. 
“ I’ll wager this young farmer was a gay Lothario 
while in Mauchline,” she continued mockingly. 

“ Oh, no, your ladyship,” interrupted Mrs. Bums 
simply. “ He was a flax dresser.” 

Truly a more respectable occupation, madame,” 
gravely responded Lord Glencairn with a suspicious 
twinkle in his eye. 

“ Thank ye, my lord,” answered Mrs. Bums with 
a deep courtesy. “ My lad is a good lad, if I do say 
so, and he has returned to us as pure minded as when 
he went awa’ a year ago.” 

Lady Glencairn raised her delicately arched eye- 
brows in amused surprise. Turning to Jean, she 
murmured drily, “ And away from home a year, too! 
He must be a model of virtue, truly.” 

Jean gazed at her with startled eyes. “ Can she 
suspect aught.? ” she asked herself fearfully. 

“ Could I be getting ye a cup of milk ? ” asked Mrs. 
Burns hospitably. “ ’Tis a’ I have to offer, but 
’tis cool and refreshing.” 

“ Fresh milk,” repeated Lady Glencairn, rising 
with delight. ‘‘ I vow it would be most welcome, guid- 
wife.” 

Indeed it would,” responded her husband. And 
Mrs. Burns with a gratified smile hurried from the 


room. 


56 HIGHLAND MARY 

‘‘ My dear, don’t look so tragic,” drawled Lady 
Glencairn carelessly, as she noticed Jean’s pale face 
and frightened eyes. “ We’ll soon be in Mauch- 
line. Although why you are in such a monstrous 
hurry to reach that lonesome village after your de- 
lightful sojourn in the capital, is more than I can 
conjecture,” and her keen eyes noted with wonder 
the flush mount quickly to the girl’s cheek. 

“ It is two months since I left my home, your lady- 
ship,” faltered Jean hesitatingly. “ It’s only nat- 
ural I should be anxious to see my dear parents 
again.” She dropped her eyes quickly before her 
ladyship’s penetrating gaze. 

“ Dear parents, indeed,” sniffed Lady Glencairn to 
herself suspiciously as she followed their hostess to 
the door of the “ ben.” 

With a nervous little laugh Jean rose quickly from 
her chair by the window and walked toward the door 
through which they had entered. “ The accident has 
quite upset me. Lady Glencairn,” she said constrain- 
edly. “ Would you mind if I stroll about the fields 
until my nerves are settled.^ ” she asked with a forced 
laugh. 

‘‘ No, child, go by all means,” replied her lady- 
ship indolently. “ The air will do you good, no 
doubt.” 

“ I warn you not to wander too far from the 
house,” interposed Lord Glencairn with a kindly 
smile. ‘‘We will not be detained much longer.” 


HIGHLAND MARY 57 

With a smile of thanks she hastily left the room just 
as Mrs. Burns entered from the “ ben ” bearing a 
large blue pitcher filled with foaming milk, which she 
placed on the table before her smiling visitors. 

Jean breathed a sigh of relief as she closed the 
door behind her. She felt in another moment she 
would have screamed aloud in her nervousness. That 
fate should have brought her to the very home of 
the man she had thought still in Mauchline, and to 
see whom she had hurriedly left Edinburgh, filled 
her with wonder and dread. “ I must see him before 
we leave,” she said nervously, clasping and unclasp- 
ing her hands. But where should she find him.? She 
walked quickly down the path and gazed across the 
fields, where in the distance she could see several men 
at work, repairing the disabled coach. Anxiously 
she strained her eyes to see if the one she sought 
was among them, but he was not there. Quickly she 
retraced her steps. “ I must find him. I must speak 
with him this day,” she said determinedly. As she 
neared the cottage she turned aside and walked to- 
ward the high stone fence which enclosed the house 
and yard. Swiftly mounting the old stile, she looked 
about her. Suddenly she gave a sharp little exclama- 
tion, and her heart bounded violently, for there before 
her, coming across the field, was the man she sought, 
his hands clasped behind him, his head bent low in the 
deepest meditation. With a sigh of relief she sank 
down on the step and calmly awaited his approach. 


CHAPTER VI 


Robert flung the last of his seed corn into the earth 
with a sigh of thankfulness, for though he gave the 
powers of his body to the labors of the farm, he re- 
fused to bestow on them his thoughts or his cares. 
He longed to seek the quiet of his attic room, for his 
soul was bursting with song and his nervous fingers 
fairly itched to grasp his pencil and catch and hold 
forever the pearls dropped from the lap of the God- 
dess Muse into his worshipful soul, ere they faded and 
dissolved into lusterless fragments. Mechanically he 
turned his footsteps toward the cottage, plunged in 
deep reverie. As he walked slowly along his mind sud- 
denly reverted to the year he had spent in Mauchline. 
It had been his first taste of town life. Blessed with 
a strong appetite for sociability, although constitu- 
tionally melancholy, and a hair-brained imagination, 
he had become an immediate favorite and welcome 
guest wherever he visited. Vive V amour and vive la 
bagatelle had soon become his sole principle of ac- 
tion. His heart, which was completely tinder, was 
eternally lighted up by some goddess or other, and it 
was not long before he regarded illicit love with lev- 
ity, which two months previously he had thought of 
with horror. Poesy was still a darling walk for his 


HIGHLAND MARY 59 

mind, but it was only indulged in according to the 
humor of the hour. Having no aim in life he had been 
easily led from the paths of virtue into many forms 
of dissipation, which, when indulged in, afterwards 
plunged him into the deepest melancholy. A few 
months after his advent into the village he had met 
Jean Armour, the daughter of a master builder. 
She was one of the belles of Mauchline, a wild, 
willful, imprudent lass, whose sensual charms soon 
ensnared the susceptible heart of the unsophisti- 
cated farmer lad. The fatal defect of his char- 
acter was the comparative weakness of his volition, 
and his passions, once lighted up, soon carried him 
down the stream of error and swept him over the 
precipice he saw directly in his course. 

Such being their temperaments, it was not to be 
wondered at when their procedure soon became de- 
cidedly irregular, their intimacy becoming the com- 
mon talk and gossip of Mauchline. 

A few months before Robert returned to Mossgiel 
farm Jean had received an invitation from her 
god-parents. Lord and Lady Glencairn, to visit Edin- 
burgh, which she had accepted with eagerness, for she 
was becoming tired of her latest conquest and longed 
for the gay life of the capital. 

Robert saw her leave Mauchline with no pangs of 
regret at her inconstancy and caprice. He was in 
a state of profound melancholy at the time, the 
thoughts of how he had fallen from the paths of 


60 HIGHLAND MARY 

truth and virtue, the thoughts of the pure love of 
his sweetheart at home, filling his heart with grief 
and remorse. He was thinking of all this as he 
approached the stile. How wretchedly weak and 
sinful he had been to forget his sworn vows to Mary, 
he thought remorsefully. “ May no harping voice 
from that past ever come to disturb her peace of 
mind,” he prayed fervently. 

Jean watched him, drawing ever nearer, with eyes 
filled with sudden shame and dread at what she had to 
tell him. Why had her brief infatuation for the pov- 
erty-stricken farmer led her into such depths of im- 
prudence and recklessness.? she thought angrily. As 
he reached the bottom of the stile she softly spoke 
his name, and noted with chagrin his startled look of 
surprise and annoyance as he raised his eyes to hers. 

“ Jean Armour.? ” he cried in amazement. 

“ Aren’t you glad to see me .? ” she asked coquet- 
tishly, his presence exercising its old fascination for 
her. 

‘‘ What has brought ye to Mossgiel .? ” he asked 
abruptly, ignoring her outstretched hand. 

“ An accident,” she replied flippantly. ‘‘ I was 
on my way home and would have been there ere this 
had it not been for a fortunate mishap.” 

“Fortunate mishap?” he repeated questioningly. 

“ Yes,” she retorted amiably, “ otherwise I should 
have missed seeing you,” and she smiled down into 
his pale startled face. 


HIGHLAND MARY 61 

I dinna understand why ye left Edinburgh,” he 
began, when she interrupted him. 

“ Because I thought you were still in Mauchline,” 
she explained quickly. He look at her questioningly. 
“ I left Edinburgh for the sole purpose of seeing you, 
Robert,” she announced quietly, making room for him 
to sit beside her, but he did not accept the invitation. 

“ Well, noo, that was very kind of ye, Jean,” he 
replied a little uneasily. “ But I’m not so conceited 
as to believe that. I ken the charms o’ Edinburgh 
town, with its handsome officers, soon made ye forget 
the quiet country village, and a’ your old flames, 
including your bashful humble servant,” and he 
made her a mocking bow. 

His tone of satirical raillery made her* wince. 
“ Forget she cried passionately, jumping to her 
feet. ‘‘I wish to heaven I might forget everything, 
but I cannot — I cannot.” The sudden thought of 
her predicament caused her haughty, rebellious spirit 
to quail, and covering her face with her hands, she 
burst into a paroxysm of tears and sank heavily down 
upon the step. 

He regarded the weeping woman silently. Was 
her attachment for him stronger than he had believed? 
Could it be possible she still entertained a passion for 
him ? he asked himself anxiously. But no, that couldn’t 
be; she had left him two months ago with a careless 
word of farewell on her laughing lips. Yet why 
these tears, these wild words she had just uttered? 


62 


HIGHLAND MARY 


A wave of pity for her swept over him as he realized, 
if such were the case, that he must repulse her 
advances gently but none the less firmly. He had 
done with her forever when he said his last farewell. 
There could be no raking over of the dead ashes. 

Jean angrily wiped away her tears. She must not 
give way to such weakness. She had an errand to 
perform which would need all her courage. He was 
evidently waiting for some explanation of her strange 
behavior, she told herself with a vain effort to steel 
her heart. Now was the time to tell him all, she 
thought fearfully, peeking out from behind her small 
linen ’kerchief, with which she was dabbing her eyes, 
at his cold, wondering face. The sooner it was done 
the sooner she would know what to expect at his 
hands. How should she begin.? After a long, nerv- 
ous pause she faltered out, “ Have you forgotten 
the past, Robert, and all that we were to each other ? ” 

“ Nay, Jean, I remember everything,” he answered 
remorsefully. “ But let us not speak of that noo, 
please. Ye ken that is all ended between us forever.” 
He turned away pale and trembling, for her presence, 
her looks and words recalled many things he wanted 
to forget, that shamed him to remember. 

“ Ended ? ” she repeated, an angry flush rising to 
the roots of her black hair. She looked at him in 
amazement. He, the poverty-stricken farmer, had 
repulsed her, the belle of Mauchline ? Could she have 
heard aright.? He who had always been at her beck 


HIGHLAND MARY 63 

and call, two months ago her willing slave, could 
it be that he was over his infatuation for her? She 
had not thought of that possibility. She had ex- 
pected him to be humble, gratefully flattered by her 
condescension in seeking him out. If he should 
refuse the proposal she had come so far to make! she 
thought in trepidation. “ He must not refuse, he 
shall not refuse,” and her face grew hard and set. 
But perhaps he was piqued because she had left him 
so unceremoniously two months ago, because she had 
not written him. Her tense lips relaxed into a smile. 
Oh, well, she would be nice to him now; she would 
make him think she was breaking her heart for him, 
work on his sympathy, then perhaps it would not be 
necessary to confess her humiliating plight. No 
farmer doomed to lifelong poverty would be averse 
to winning the hand of the daughter of the rich 
Squire Armour. These thoughts, running through 
her mind, decided her next move, and with a fluttering 
sigh she rose from her seat and descended the step. 
She drew close to him and looking languishingly up 
into his face, murmured, “Why should it be ended, 
Robert? I love you just the same as I did in the 
past,” and she threw her arms about his neck, cling- 
ing to him passionately. “ You do love me a little, 
tell me you do.” 

“ Jean, ye must be daft,” he panted, vainly trying 
to disengage himself from her embrace. 

But she continued softly, alluringly, “ Think of 


64 HIGHLAND MARY 

the old days, when I lay in your arms like this, Rob- 
bie. Think of those happy hours we spent together 
on the banks of the Doon. You were not cold to me 
then. Oh, let us live them all over again. How 
happy we will be. Kiss me, Rob,” and she lifted 
her flushed, piquant face, her crimson lips pursed 
temptingly, close to his. The warmth of her seduc- 
tive body, the white bare arms in their short sleeves, 
which embraced his neck, the half-closed passionate 
eyes gazing invitingly, languorously into his own, 
fired his naturally ardent blood, making his senses to 
reel from the contact. Slowly his arms, which had 
been restraining her amorous embrace, tightened 
their hold on her, drawing her closer and closer, 
while the drops of sweat poured down his white, 
yielding face, as with wild bloodshot eyes he battled 
with the temptations which beset him so wantonly, 
so dangerously. With a thrill of elation not un- 
mixed with desire she felt him yielding to her 
embrace, and knew that she had won him again. 
With a cooing cry of delight she was about to press 
her warm lips to his, when suddenly a bird-like voice 
singing in the distance arrested her impulse. 

“Oh where and oh where is my Highland laddie gone?” 

rang out the voice of the singer plaintively. With a 
cry of brief and horror Robert tore the clinging arms 
from about his neck and threw her madly from him. 


HIGHLAND MARY 65 

“What is the matter, Robert?” she cried fearfully, 
looking at him in amazement. 

“ I think ye had better go noo, Jean,” he answered 
harshly, not looking at her. “ ’Twill be best for us 
both. Oh, how I despise my weakness, I had no 
right, no right noo.” And there was an agony of 
shame and remorse in his voice. 

“ Do you mean,” she asked white with rage. 
“ That you are not free to do as you like? ” He re- 
mained silent a moment. 

Then his face grew calm and peaceful. “ The lass 
whom ye hear singing is Mary Campbell, my be- 
trothed wife,” he answered simply. “We are to be 
married when the plantin’ is done. We have been 
sweethearts for years, and if I have in my weakness 
forgotten my sworn vows to her, by God’s help I’ll 
strive to be more faithful in the future.” His voice 
vibrated with intense feeling as he made the resolu- 
tion. Then he continued softly and tenderly, “ And 
the love I bear my faithful Mary will never cease as 
long as this crimson current flows within me.” A 
mocking laugh greeted his words as he finished. 

“ I tell you, Robert Burns,” cried Jean threat- 
eningly, “ she shall never be your wife, for I 

will ” But the angry words died suddenly on 

her lips at an unlooked-for interruption. 

“ Jean, Jean,” called a lazy voice. Turning 
quickly she saw with apprehension Lady Glencaim 
standing in' the open doorway of the cottage, beckon- 


66 HIGHLAND MARY 


ing leisurely to her. Had she heard her imprudent 
words ? she asked herself in terror. But no, that were 
not possible. She had not raised her voice. For a 
moment she hesitated, not knowing what to do. 
Should she tell him the truth now.^^ It would only 
mean a hurriedly whispered word or two, but as she 
looked at him standing there so proudly erect, the 
angry, puzzled flush which her last hasty words had 
occasioned still mantling his swarthy face, she felt 
her courage slipping away from her. Why not wait 
and write him.f^ she temporized; that would be much 
better than creating a scene now, with the sharp eye 
of Lady Glencairn fastened upon them. Yes, she 
would do that, she decided hastily. She turned calmly 
and mounted the stile and without one backward 
glance descended to the other side. “ Are you com- 
ing ” she asked indiflPerently over her shoulder, and 
without waiting for his answer walked quickly toward 
the house. Robert after a moment’s indecision 
gravely followed her, the look of puzzled concern 
still wrinkling his forehead. 

“ Oh, I beg your pardon ; I didn’t know you were 
indulging in a tete-a-tete,” said Lady Glencairn 
frigidly as they reached the door. 

“ Lady Glencairn, this is Mr. Robert Burns,” stam- 
mered Jean nervously, with a flush of embarrassment 
at her ladyship’s sarcastic smile. 

“ Oh, indeed, delighted I’m sure,” said her lady- 
ship, with a careless nod, which changed to surprised 


HIGHLAND MARY 67 

interest as Robert with simple, manly dignity re- 
moved his Tam O’Shanter and bowed low before the 
haughty beauty. ‘‘ What an air for a peasant,” she 
mused. “ What dignity,” and she surveyed him 
critically from the top of his head, with its black 
clustering locks which gleamed purple in the sun- 
shine, to the tip of his rough leather brogans ; 
noting with admiration his stalwart frame, the well- 
shaped head and massive neck, the strength sug- 
gested in the broad shoulders, the deep chest, the 
herculean limbs with the swelling muscles displayed 
to such advantage within the tightly fitting breeches 
of doe skin. “ What a handsome creature,” she 
thought with a thrill of admiration, as she took the 
mental inventory of his good points. “ And decid- 
edly interesting. I’ll wager, if not dangerous,” she 
added, smiling contemplatively as she caught the look 
of respectful admiration which gleamed in his won- 
derfully magnetic eyes. 

“ Oh, James,” she called languidly reentering the 
room, “ here is the young man who has so kindly 
assisted in repairing the coach — the young mail who 
has just returned from Mauchline,” she added signifi- 
cantly. 

“ Nay, your ladyship, ’tis my brother Gilbert you 
must thank for his assistance, not me,” rephed Rob- 
ert, flushing. As the deep tones of his sonorous voice 
fell on her ear she felt an indefinable thrill of emotion 
steal over her that startled her. She looked at him 


68 HIGHLAND MARY 


wonderingly. What peculiar magnetism was there in 
this farmer’s voice that could so easily move her, who 
had always prided herself on her coldness, her indif- 
ference to all men, including her husband, who was 
blissfully unconscious of his beautiful wife’s senti- 
ments regarding him? 

“ Your brother had no easy task, I fear, Mr. 
Burns,” remarked Lord Glencairn genially. Then he 
turned smilingly to Jean, who was standing impa- 
tiently in the doorway. “ What have you been doing 
all this time, my dear Jean? ” he asked lightly. 

‘‘ Ask Mr. Burns,” insinuated Lady Glencairn 
with an odd little smile at Jean’s embarrassed 
countenance. He looked inquiringly at the surprised 
face of the young farmer. 

Miss Armour has done me the honor of listening 
to some of my rhyming,” quietly replied Robert with 
a quick glance at Jean, his ready wit coming to her 
rescue. 

“ So then you are a poet,” murmured Lady Glen- 
cairn, with a smile. “ Do you write love sonnets to 
your sweethearts, or does the muse incline at this sea- 
son to songs of springtime ? ” 

‘‘ Aye, my lady, he has the gift indeed,” spoke up 
Mrs. Burns deprecatingly. “ But I dinna’ ken if 
it amounts to aught.” 

“ My mother doesna’ care for my poetry,” said 
Robert simply, turning to her ladyship. 

“ Dinna’ say that, laddie,” replied his mother 


HIGHLAND MARY 69 

earnestly. “Ye ken I’m o’er fond of those verses 
to Highland Mary, but 

“ ‘ Highland Mary ’ ? what a dear name,” inter- 
rupted Lady Glencairn sweetly, smiling at Robert. 
“Who is she, may I ask.?” and she leaned forward 
questioningly in her chair. 

“ She is a — a friend,” he replied, flushing to the 
roots of his hair. Then he continued, softly, his eyes 
lighting up with love and devotion, “ An’ she is as 
sweet and fragrant as a sprig of pure white heather 
plucked from her native Highlands.” 

“ Aye, and she’ll make a fine wife for Robert,” 
added Mrs. Burns complacently. 

“ Aye, finer than I deserve, mither,” he replied, 
looking uneasily at Jean, who had started violently, 
then quickly leaned back against the door post, pale 
and trembling. 

“Marry her.? Never! He cannot, he must not,” 
she muttered to herself, frantically. 

“ Why, Jean 1 ” cried Lady Glencairn, going to her 
in sudden alarm. “ What ails you, why do you look 
so wild.? ” 

“ I — I’m — a pain gripped my heart most sud- 
denly,” she faltered. “ I find it over warm here,” 
she gasped. “ I’ll await you without,” and she left 
the room, a strange, frightened look on her pale 
face. 

With a puzzled frown Lady Glencairn turned and 
sank thoughtfully into a chair. Looking up sud- 


70 HIGHLAND MARY 

denly, she caught Robert’s eye fastened upon her 
face in eager scrutiny. “ Let me see, what were we 
speaking about.? ” she inquired indifferently. 

“Ye were kind enough to ask me about my 
poetry,” answered Rob quietly. Jean’s queer be- 
havior troubled him. What did it all mean.? He 
feared she had aroused suspicion in her ladyship’s 
mind. 

“ Oh, to be sure, and I vow I’m curious,” she re- 
plied brightly. “ I should like to read one of your 
poems, Mr. Burns, if you have one at hand.” 

“ He has bushels of them in the attic, your lady- 
ship,” eagerly spoke Mrs. Bums. 

“ Aye, mother,” laughed Robert, “ all waiting for 
the publisher. Here is one I but this day scribbled 
off, if — if ye really care to read it,” he added 
bashfully, taking a scrap of paper from the pocket 
of his loose shirt and handing it to Lady Glencairn. 

She took it with a smile of amused indifference. 
A farmer and a poet ! the idea was absurd. With an 
almost imperceptibly sarcastic lifting of her delicate 
eyebrows she read the title, “ ‘ Flow gently, sweet 
Afton, among thy green braes.’ ” Then she read the 
verse in growing wonder and astonishment. She had 
thought to please him with a word of praise, even if 
they were laughably commonplace and prosaic ; but it 
was with genuine enthusiasm that she heartily cried, 
“ Really, ’tis a gem, Mr. Bums, so charming withal, 
such beautiful sentiment, and writ in most excellent 


HIGHLAND MARY 71 

style. Read it, James,” and she handed it to Lord 
Glencairn, who carefully perused it with apparent 
delight in its rhythmic beauty of composition. 

Thank ye, my lady,” replied Robert, flushing. 
“ Your praise is o’er sweet to my hungry ear.” She 
gazed at him in open admiration. 

Here, Robert, are some more,” cried Mrs. Burns, 
entering the room with a box, which she placed 
before her son. “ Show his lordship these, laddie,” 
and she hovered nervously around, her face flushed 
with excitement, watching anxiously every look and 
expression that passed over the faces of their guests. 

Robert opened the box and selected a few of the 
poems at random, which he handed to Lord Glen- 
cairn without a word. 

“ ‘ A man’s a man for a’ that,’ * Willie brewed 
a peck of malt,’ ‘ Holy Willie’s Prayer,’ ‘ The Lass 
of Balbehmyle,’ ” read Lord Glencairn slowly, 
glancing over their titles. Then he read them 
through earnestly, his noble face expressing the in- 
terest he felt; then with a sigh of pleasure he passed 
them to Lady Glencairn, who devoured the written 
pages eagerly, her face flushed and radiant. When 
she had finished, she leaned back in her chair and fixed 
her luminous eyes upon her husband’s beaming face. 

“ James,” said she decidedly, “ you will please me 
well if you will influence some publisher to accept this 
young man’s poems and place them before the public. 
I’m sure he is most deserving, and — he interests me 


72 HIGHLAND MARY 

greatly.” There was a peculiar glitter in her half- 
closed eyes as she gazed intently at Robert with an 
enigmatic smile parting her red lips. The gracious 
lady with her high-bred air, her alluring smile, her 
extreme condescension, was a revelation to the coun- 
try-bred lad, who was brought in close contact for the 
first time with one so far above his station in life. 
He felt his awkwardness more than he had ever 
thought possible as he felt her critical eyes fastened 
upon him and heard her honeyed words of praise and 
encouragement. 

“ Mr. Burns,” said his lordship earnestly, 
“ your poems interest me greatly, and I declare such 
genius as you display should be given an opportunity 
to develop. It will afford me much pleasure to take 
these verses, with your permission, back with me to 
Edinburgh and submit them to Sir William Creech, 
who is the largest publisher there, and a personal 
friend of mine, and if he accepts these poems as a 
criterion of your artistic ability, without the least 
doubt your success will be at once assured.” He put 
them carefully in the large wallet he had taken from 
an inside pocket while he was talking, and replaced it 
within his coat. 

Robert looked at him, hardly daring to believe his 
ears. “ I — I canna find words to express my un- 
bounded gratitude to you, my lord,” he faltered, his 
voice low and shaking. 

‘‘ I’d advise you to make a collection of your 


HIGHLAND MARY 73 

poems, my lad,” continued Lord Glencaim quietly, 
touched by the sight of Robert’s expressive features, 
which he was vainly trying to control. “ Chiefly 
those in the Scottish dialect ; they are new and will 
create a sensation. Have them ready to forward 
to town when sent for.” There was a tense silence 
for a moment when he had finished. 

Robert dared not trust his voice to speak, to 
utter his thanks. Finally he burst out, “ My 
lord, how can I ever thank ye for this unlooked- 
for generosity to an absolute stranger ! ” he cried 
brokenly. “ For years I have been praying for a 
publisher to edit my songs, but I could see no silver 
lining to the dark clouds of obscurity hanging over 
my unhappy, friendless head, clouds which threat- 
ened to engulf me in their maddening embrace. 
But now,” he continued eloquently, his voice ring- 
ing with gladness, “ the bright sunlight is peeping 
around the fast disappearing cloud, warming my 
very soul with its joyous rays. Oh, my lord, if 
ever the name of Robert Burns should e’en become 
familiar to his countrymen, ’twill be through your 
graciousness, your benevolence, to a poor unknown, 
humble plowman,” and his eyes filled with tears of 
love and gratitude for his noble benefactor. 

Lord Glencairn took a pinch of snuff from the 
small oblong box he held in his hand, and used his 
handkerchief vigorously to conceal the tears of sym- 
pathy which had welled up in his eyes as he listened 


74 HIGHLAND MARY 

to the recital of Robert’s ambitions, his hopes and 
fears. 

“My dear lad,” he said, trying to speak lightly, 
“ I have done nothing as yet to. deserve such ful- 
some words of thanks. ’Tis but a trifling thing I 
propose doing, and it pleases me, else perhaps I 
might not trouble myself to speak in your behalf.” 

“ Ah, noo, sir,” cried Mrs. Burns, wiping away 
the tears of joy, “ ’tis your big, noble heart which 
prompts ye to assist a struggling genius to some- 
thing better, higher, and nobler in this hfe. God 
bless ye for it.” 

The door opened, and Gilbert Burns quietly 
entered the room. Removing his Tam O’Shanter, he 
bowed respectfully to Lord Glencairn and said 
briefly, “ Your Lordship’s coach is repaired.” 

With a word of thanks Lord Glencairn rose and 
assisted his wife into her cloak. 

“ Thank goodness we can proceed on our journey 
while it is yet light,” she said animatedly, going to 
the door. 

“I assure you. Mistress Burns, we have enjoyed 
your hospitality amazing well,” said Lord Glencairn, 
turning to their hostess. “ Believe me, we’ll not for- 
get it.” 

They left the house, followed by their admiring 
hosts. Suddenly Lady Glencairn gave a little cry 
of delighted surprise as her eyes rested on the droop- 
ing figure of Highland Mary, sitting disconsolately 


HIGHLAND MARY 75 

on a large rock beside the old well. “ What a sweet, 
pretty flower of a lass ! ” she cried enthusiastically. 
“ Come here, child,” she called aloud. Mary looked 
up quickly with a little gasp of surprise, for she had 
not noticed them come out. She rose bashfully to her 
feet and stood hesitating, her eyes timidly fixed on a 
piece of heather she was holding in her hand. 

Lady Glencairn laughed amusedly. “ I vow ’tis 
an uncommon modest shy wildflower truly,” she said 
to her husband. “ Come here, child. I’ll not bite you,” 
and she held out her hands toward the wondering 
girl. 

With a little silvery, timid laugh Mary walked 
quickly toward her. “ I’m no afraid, my lady,” she 
replied quietly, but her heart was beating very fast, 
nevertheless, as she stood before the great lady, who 
was watching the flower-like face, with the delicate 
pink color coming and going, with such apparent 
admiration. 

“ That’s our Highland Mary,” triumphantly 
cried Souter, who had just come upon the scene. 

Oh, indeed,” replied her ladyship brightly. “ So 
you are Highland Mary.” 

“ Yes, my lady,” answered Mary with a quaint 
little courtesy. 

“ Isn’t she a dear,” said Lady Glencairn aloud to 
her husband. 

She turned to Robert, who was proudly watching 
Mary, with eyes aglow with love and happiness. “No 


76 HIGHLAND MARY 

wonder, Mr. Burns,” she said, a sigh involuntarily 
escaping her as she noted his rapt gaze, “ that you 
have sought to portray in song and verse the sweet 
loveliness of this fair maiden.” Then she turned 
suddenly to Mary. 

You’re a very pretty child,” she said carelessly. 
“ But I suppose you know that well ere this.” She 
laughed cynically and turned away. 

“ She isna used to such compliments, your lady- 
ship,” said Robert, noticing the embarrassed blush 
that mounted to Mary’s cheek. “ She’s o’er shy, ye 
ken.” 

“ That’s the kind we raise in the Highlands,” 
declared Souter with a satisfied air. 

“ Come, James, it grows late,” wearily said Lady 
Glencairn, taking her husband’s arm. “ And here is 
the coach.” As the vehicle with its prancing black 
horses champing restlessly at their bits drew up to 
the gate, she turned to Mary and said condescend- 
ingly, “ Good-by, child ; I suppose some day, when Mr. 
Burns is the Bard of Scotland, we’ll see you in town 
with him. Be sure to come and see me at Glencairn 
Hall.” 

“ Thank ye, my lady,” replied Mary, courtesying 
deeply, fortunately not discerning the sarcasm in the 
tired tones of the great lady’s voice. 

Lord Glencairn helped her into the coach, and 
then turned to Robert with outstretched hand. “ My 
lad,” he said cordially, “ you may expect to hear 


HIGHLAND MARY 77 

from me or Sir William Creech very shortly. 
Good-by.” 

“ Good-by, sir,” replied Robert, ‘‘ and may Heaven 
bless you.” 

“ Oh, Lud,” cried Lady Glencaim as they were 
about to start, “ we’re forgetting Jean.” 

“ The young lady strolled alang,” answered Gil- 
bert quietly. “ She said you would overtake her on 
the road.” 

Lady Glencaim thanked him with a careless nod, 
and then leaned far out of the door to Robert. “ Re- 
member, Mr. Burns,” she said softly, pressing his 
hand, “ I expect to see you in Edinburgh very soon, 
don’t forget,” and with another lingering look, full 
of meaning, she withdrew into the coach, and soon 
they were gone in a cloud of dust, while he stood there 
gazing after them like one in a dream with the last 
rays of the setting sun lighting up his dark, passion- 
ate face. 

“ Hurra ! ’tis luck ye’re in, laddie,” shouted 
Souter in his ear. The gentry have noticed ye. 
Ye should be dancing for joy, mon. I’m off to tell 
the lads of your good fortune,” and away he sped 
to the village, eager as any old gossip to spread the 
glorious news. 

“ Isna it all like a dream, Mary .5”’ sighed Mrs. 
Bums rapturously, leading the way into the house, 
followed by the two lovers, who entered hand in hand 
and seated themselves in blissful silence on the high- 


78 HIGHLAND MARY 


backed settle under the window, their favorite seat. 
For a few moments they sat motionless, regarding 
each other with moist eyes. It almost seemed too 
good to be true. In a few weeks perhaps Robert 
would be a great man, thought Mary proudly. 
“ Weel, I always did have faith in Robert’s poetry,” 
suddenly declared Mrs. Bums with conviction. 

Robert smiled at his mother’s words. “ They 
would all say that now,” he thought, but without 
bitterness, for it was only the way of the world after 
all. 

“ Ye’ll soon hae riches noo,” said Mary happily. 

‘‘ Aye, then ye shall hae a fine new gown, and — and 
we will be married noo, instead of waiting,” answered 
Robert, taking her tenderly in his arms. 

“ ’Tis a bonnie, bonnie pair ye make,” said Mrs. 
Burns lovingly. “ May God bless ye,” and she softly 
stole away, leaving them to their feast of love. 



‘‘Slipped quickly behind an old beech tree.” 





















CHAPTER VII 


Jean left the house filled with terrified dismay. Rob- 
ert going to marry another? then what would 
become of her? She would be disgraced and ruined. 
The thought drove her frantic. “ He shall not marry 
her ; he shall give me the protection of his name, for 
the time being at least,” she said to herself angrily. 
Afterward, the marriage could be easily annulled ; she 
did not want him. She did not want to be tied for life 
to any farmer, not she. She would then return to 
Edinburgh. But suppose he would not consent to 
such an arrangement? Well she would scare him into 
it. He was as much to blame as she was anyway. 
She would not wait to write him after all ; she would 
tell him now. There was nothing to fear. She would 
wait until the others had started, then come back and 
force her claim. If they went on without her, it 
did not matter much; it was not far to the Inn, she 
mused determinedly. She stopped in her rapid walk 
and retraced her steps. As she neared the cottage 
the door opened and her god-parents came out, and 
with them were Robert and the others. Before they 
could perceive her, however, she slipped quickly be- 
hind an old beech tree back of the well and nearest 
the house. Breathlessly, impatiently, she waited while 
79 


80 HIGHLAND MARY 

they talked, and talked, till she thought they would 
never go. Then when the coach came and the at- 
tendant excitement of its departure, like a guilty 
creature she stole noiselessly across the intervening 
space to the cottage, slipped through the open door, 
and hid herself behind the fireplace, where Mary had 
concealed herself some weeks before. 

After Mrs. Burns left the room Jean came boldly 
out from her hiding place and stood before the 
startled couple, who gazed at her in amazement. She 
looked at them insolently, a sneer on her full lips. 

Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Burns,” she inter- 
rupted sarcastically. The color slowly faded from 
his ruddy face. Was she going to expose that 
shameful page in his past history to this innocent 
child.? Would she dare, could she be so reckless, so 
shameless.? he asked himself fearfully. 

“ I thought ye had gone,” he said, dangerously 
calm, stepping up to her. 

‘‘ I could not go till I had delivered a message,” 
she explained, dropping her eyes before the determined 
light in his. 

“ What is it .? ” he asked, puzzled by her tone and 
manner. 

« It is of great importance and for your ears 
alone,” she replied glibly. “ I’m sure this lady — 
Miss Campbell, is it not.? — ^will not mind leaving us 
for a moment,” and she smiled amiably into Mary’s 
innocent inquiring face. 


HIGHLAND MARY 81 

He led Mary gently to the door. “ It’ll be only 
for a moment, Mary,” he said quietly. 

“ I dinna’ mind,” she answered brightly. “ ’Tis 
near time for me to be going hame, ye ken,” and with 
a smile she left them together. 

‘‘ Noo, then, what is your message ” he said with 
calm abruptness, as the door closed. 

“ This ! ” and she threw back her head defiantly. 
“ You must give up this Mary Campbell.” 

He looked at her in amazement. “ What do ye 
mean ? ” he gasped, opening his eyes in bewilder- 
ment. 

“ I mean you must make me your wife.” Her pale 
and agitated face made him wonder if she had gone 
quite daft. Before he could answer she continued 
stridently, “ You must marry me now, before it is 
too late, too late to save my name from dishonor and 
disgrace. Now do you understand ” 

A look of incredulous horror slowly blanched his 
face to ashy whiteness. Had he heard aright.?* Surely 
she was jesting; it could not be possible — and yet, 
why not.?* His haggard eyes searched her colorless 
face as though he would read her very soul. Calmly 
she bore the scrutiny and then, with a groan of 
anguish, he sank into a chair, weak and trembling. 
“ I canna, I willna, believe,” he muttered hoarsely. 
“ It’s a lie, it’s a lie, Jean Armour ! ” 

“ It’s the truth, I tell you,” she cried passionately, 
wringing her hands. What else think you would 


82 


HIGHLAND MARY 


force me, the rich Belle of Mauchline, to humble my 
pride and stoop to plead to a poverty-stricken farmer 
to wed me ? ” She laughed wildly. 

Can it be true, can it be true? ” he whispered to 
himself dully. He felt dazed by the suddenness, the 
total unexpectedness, of the blow. He closed his eyes 
wearily. What was it she wanted him to do, he 
could not think. He sat dumbly waiting for her to 
speak again. 

“You must write out an acknowledgment and 
sign your name to it,” she continued, her voice low 
and insistent. “ It is an irregular marriage I know, 
but it will save me from my father’s wrath, when' I 
can keep my plight from him no longer.” He still re- 
mained silent, his face hidden in his hands. “ Will 
you do this ? ” she demanded anxiously, “ or,” and 
her voice grew hard and threatening, “ or shall I 
appeal to the Parish officers to help me save my good 
name from disgrace? ” Quickly he raised his head. 
At his look of indignant scorn she winced and 
turned away, flushing angrily. 

With a mirthless little laugh he retorted with 
bitter emphasis, “Your good name, indeed!” 

She turned on him defiantly. “ I was no worse 
than other girls,” she flippantly retorted. “ Only 
more unfortunate. Will you do what I ask? Quick, 
tell me, someone is coming 1 ” She nervously caught 
his hand. He did not speak. His face grew hag- 
gard and old-looking as he stood motionless, forming 


HIGHLAND MARY 83 

his resolution. It seemed to her an eternity before 
he answered her. 

“ So be it,” he answered hoarsely, drawing his hand 
away from hers and moving slowly to the door. “ I’ll 
send ye the lines by the posty to-morrow.” 

With a cry of delight she gratefully held out 
her hand to him. But he quietly opened the door, 
and, without a word or look at her, stood silently 
holding it back, his head bowed low on his bosom, his 
face cold and repellent. Slowly Jean walked past 
him out into the deepening twilight. She felt a 
dawning pity in her heart for the wretched lad. She 
could not quite forget those old, happy days, those 
stolen walks and trysts along the banks of the Ayr. 
No one could make love so ardently as he, she 
thought with a sigh. Of all her lovers he had been 
the favorite, he was so ingenuous, so trustful and con- 
fiding, and yet so reckless, so imprudent and weak. 
She knew well he had never really loved her, and the 
thought had made her strive all the harder to win him. 
He was flattered by her open preference for him, and 
soon became an easy victim, a slave, to her seductive 
charms and sophisticated fascinations, for he was only 
human. And now the heart of that little dairymaid 
would be broken. A quick pang of shame and regret 
stole over her, but she instantly stifled it. She must 
think of self first, she told herself uneasily. Anyway 
she only wanted the marriage lines in case people 
should point an accusing finger at her. Later — well, 


84 HIGHLAND MARY 


the marriage could be annulled privately, and no one 
be the wiser, for marriages were easily annulled in 
Scotland. She walked briskly to where the coach was 
standing, for they were waiting for her, determined 
to cast all gloomy, depressing thoughts from her for 
the time at least. 

Robert mechanically closed the door behind her 
and walked slowly to the dresser. Taking from it a 
bottle of ink and a quill, he carried them to the table, 
and placing them upon it, sank heavily in a chair. 
Long he sat there, pen in hand, the victim of the 
profoundest melancholy, the deepest despair. The 
thought that it was his own fault, his indifference to 
consequences, his recklessness, his weak, sinful folly, 
that had plunged himself and others into the awful 
abyss of grief and sorrow, was like the bitterness of 
death to him. As he sat there with drawn and hag- 
gard face, while bitter regret gnawed deeply at his 
conscience, the plaintive tones of Mary’s voice came 
through the window, singing softly: 

“Ye banks and braes of bonnie Doon, 

How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?” 

A groan of agony escaped the grief -stricken 
man at the sound of the voice, which was sweeter than 
all else in the world to him. 

“ Mary, my lost Highland Mary ! ” he cried aloud, 
“ how can I give ye up forever? ” and throwing him- 


HIGHLAND MARY 85 

self across the table he wept bitter tears of anguish 
and remorse. 

“ How can ye chant, ye little birds. 

An’ I sae weary, fu’ o’ care?” 

continued the sweet voice in mournful cadence. 
Softly the words floated to the ears of the sorrowing 
man, like the echo of his own harrowing thoughts. 

As Mary reached the open window she paused 
and gazed into the room eagerly. As she sees her 
lover sitting there so silent and alone, her smile is 
very sweet and tender. 

“ Dear laddie ; asleep,” she whispers softly. “ He 
must be o’er tired after his hard day’s work. God 
bless my laddie,” and with a smile of ineffable sweet- 
ness, she wafted a kiss to the bowed head and quickly 
passed on, wending her lonely way back to Castle 
Montgomery, while the man sitting there in agon- 
ized silence, with clenched teeth and tense muscles, 
slowly raised his head to listen, in heart-broken silence, 
to her sweet voice floating back to him in silvery 
melody, as she took up the broken thread of her 
song: 

“Thou’lt break my heart, thou warbling bird, 

That wantons thro’ the flow’ring thorn. 

Thou minds me o’ departed joys. 

Departed, never to return.” 

The song died away in the distance. 

‘‘ God pity her, God pity me,” he murmured 
brokenly. 


CHAPTER VIII 


From the huge, low ceilinged kitchen of Castle 
Montgomery, which was ablaze with light, came the 
gladsome sound of mirth and revelry, for 

“Some merrjr countre folks togither did convene, 

To burn their nits and pou’ their stocks, and hold their hal- 
lowe’en. 

For blythe that night.” 

For miles around the annual invitations had been 
sent broadcast, and to-night the capacious kitchen 
was taxed to its utmost. It was, however, a singularly 
good-natured, if over-hilarious, gathering that had 
assembled to do justice to old Bess’s cooking, and to 
test their fate through the medium of the many 
charms so well known to all the peasantry. 

There was Poosie Nancy in her stiffly-starched 
frilled cap and her new kirtle, complacently nod- 
ding here and there to all of her acquaintances as 
they flocked about her. Poosie Nancy was a merry 
old soul. For years she had been the mistress of the 
Arms Inn, the public house on the high road, where 
Souter and Tam O’Shanter were wont to idle away 
their time and, incidentally, their ‘‘ siller.” Standing 
on one foot behind her was Molly Dunn. Molly was 
consciously resplendent in a new plaid frock, made by 
her own unskilled hands, and while it was certainly 
86 


HIGHLAND MARY 87 

not a thing of beauty, it surely was a joy forever, to 
the lassies, who laughingly twitted her about her 
handiwork. But she heeded not their good-natured 
jibes. She was admiringly watching Daddy Auld, 
the little old minister, who sat in the midst of an 
admiring group of his parishioners at the other side 
of the room, who evidently stood in no awe of him, 
judging from the bursts of laughter which greeted his 
frequent attempts at jocularity. 

“ Where is Tam O’Shanter, Souter Johnny.? ” sud- 
denly asked old Bess, who was proudly doing the 
honors as mistress of ceremonies. Souter was 
assiduously paying court to the comely Poosie Nancy 
in the opposite corner with an eye to future pos- 
sibilities. 

He willna be here till late,” he replied impatiently, 
addressing the crowd. “ I left him at the Arms Inn, 
an’ if he drinks much mair whisky, he will na’ be here 
at all, I’m thinkin’,” and he turned eagerly to his 
inamorata, who was fanning herself indifferently with 
a plantain leaf. 

“ He’ll fall into the Doon some night an’ be 
drowned, sure as fate,” said she, carelessly dismissing 
the subject. 

“Take your partners for the reel!” shouted big 
Malcolm Macras stentoriously, at this juncture. Old 
Donald tuned up his fiddle with gleeful alacrity. 

Souter ceremoniously offered Poosie his arm, 
which she condescendingly accepted, and majesti- 


88 


HIGHLAND MARY 

cally they walked to the middle of the floor. With 
much laughing and joking and good-natured riv- 
alry, they were all quickly paired off, and soon the 
rafters rang with the happy voices of the hilarious 
dancers as they merrily sang to the tune that blind 
Donald was scratching out on his old and faithful, 
though unmelodious, fiddle. 

Mary had taken no part in the merrymaking, for 
she felt heavy and sad at heart. From her seat in 
the comer, where the light was the dimmest, she had 
watched the door with patient anxiety, hoping 
against hope that Robert would come, but she had 
waited in vain, and now the evening was nearly spent 
and soon they would be going home, happy and tired 
after their sport and entertainment, while she would 
steal away to her quarters over the kitchen and cry 
herself to sleep, as she had done for many nights 
past. Souter Johnny, who was in his element and the 
merriest of them all, had tried vainly to induce her to 
join the revelers in their sport, and many an honest 
laddie had sought her hand in the dance, only to 
be shyly refused. So gradually she was left in peace, 
and soon forgotten amid the excitement of their diver- 
sions. They had tried some of the famous charms, 
which decided the destinies of many of the lads and 
lassies that night, and now old Bess brought forth 
her long-hoarded bag of nuts, which she divided 
among them. Amid shouts of mirth and laughter, 
they proceeded to test the most famous of all the 
charms. As they rushed pellmell to the fireplace 


HIGHLAND MARY 89 

and laid each particular nut in the fire, for which 
they had named the lad or lassie of their choice, 
and stood there eagerly watching, open-mouthed, to 
see how they would burn, Mary, with a quickly beat- 
ing heart, stole unperceived close to the front row of 
watchers, and with a little prayer, quietly threw her 
pair into the fire. For a moment they burned slowly 
side by side, then with a hop and a jump they popped 
madly about, and finally at opposite sides of the 
fireplace they glowed redly for a time, then expired 
altogether. With a little, suppressed sob, unheeded 
in the general excitement, she hurried back to her 
seat, pale and trembling. It was as she had feared: 
the course of their love was never again to run 
smoothly, the charm had spoken. It had never been 
known to predict wrongly. Why had she sought to 
find out her fate.? she asked herself pathetically. 
Unheeding the merry songs and dances going on 
around her, of which they never seemed to weary, and 
the unco tales and funny jokes, she sat there thinking 
her sweet, sad thoughts, and patiently waiting till 
they should depart for their homes, that she might 
seek the quiet of her bed, where her aching heart 
might find relief in the tears which now-a-days were 
so hard to control. Suddenly the laughter subsided, 
and Mary with a start raised her head to see all eyes 
turned on her. 

“Mary, come here, lass,” called Souter Johnny, 
who was fanning himself vigorously. 

“ It’s your turn noo, Mary,” they cried boister- 


90 HIGHLAND MARY 

ously. “ So gie us a dance or a song,” and they 
all pressed around her with good-natured sugges- 
tions. 

Old Bess took the shrinking girl by the hand, and 
leading her forward, with a deep courtesy an- 
nounced, “ Hieland Mary will favor us wi’ a song,” 
then she left Mary standing in the center of the room 
suffering agonies of dread as she raised her fright- 
ened eyes to the group of laughing, good-natured, 
gaping faces about her. 

“ I canna’ sing, I canna’ sing, Souter,” she fal- 
tered, turning to him beseechingly. 

“ Yes, ye can, dearie, just a — a verse, there’s a 
girlie,” he answered encouragingly. “ Come and 
stand beside me, if that’s any inspiration to ye,” he 
added, smiling good-humoredly. 

She ran to his side, and clutching him by the arm, 
tried to muster up her courage, for the good-natured 
audience were clamorously demanding a song. With 
a frightened little gasp she began to sing the first 
thing that came to her mind. “ Oh, where, and oh, 
where is my Highland laddie gone.^* ” she faltered 
out. A little titter passed through the crowd, for 
they knew that “ Rab Burns was nae longer sweet 
on Mary Campbell,” as they told each other in loud 
whispers. At the cruel sound Mary, whose lips had 
trembled ominously as she thought of her recreant 
lover, with an indignant look at the thoughtless ones, 
burst into a flood of tears. Quickly Souter led her 


HIGHLAND MARY 91 

sobbing to a seat, while the others anxiously crowded 
round, conscience-stricken at their thoughtless levity. 

“What’s happent.f’ what’s happent.'^ Has she 
fainted.? ” they asked in helpless confusion, gazing 
from one to the other. 

“ She’s only a wee bittie tired,” answered old 
Souter, tenderly smoothing the hair of the sorrow- 
ing lass. “ Let her alone an’ she’ll be all right. 
Donald,” he called, “ start your fiddle ; we’re gang 
to hae anither dance.” 

The blind old patriarch smiled serenely, and rais- 
ing his fiddle to his chin began to play, and soon the 
mirth and fun grew fast and furious as the dancers 
reeled and set, and crosst and cleekit. 

While old Donald was playing, and the dance was 
well started, Souter quietly led Mary out in the open 
air, and sitting down on the doorstep, he drew her 
gently beside him. “ Noo, Mary, what is the mat- 
ter? ” he inquired kindly. “ Winna ye tell old Sou- 
ter Johnny your trouble? ” 

“Ye ken why I am unhappy, Souter Johnny,” 
answered Mary apathetically. He sighed and re- 
mained silent. 

“ Have ye an’ Robert quarreled? ” he asked 
presently. 

“ No,” she answered sadly. 

“ Weel, come tell old Souter ; it may ease your 
mind, lassie,” and he drew her plaid about her 
shoulders, for the night air was keen. 


92 HIGHLAND MARY 


“ Well, ye ken, Souter,” she faltered, a pitiful 
little break in her voice, ‘‘ Robbie an’ I were to be 
married after the plantin’ was o’er, and ’tis noo 
harvest time, but ne’er a word has he spoke of our 
marriage since that day. He is so changed, Souter, 
I — I canna understand him at all,” and she leaned 
wearily against his shoulder like a tired child. 

“ That Armour lass is at the bottom of it all, I 
ken,” thought Souter angrily, drawing her close to 
him. 

Perhaps,” continued Mary sadly, “ perhaps he 
has grown tired of his Highland Mary.” She plucked 
idly at the fringe of her plaid, a look of resigna- 
tion on her sweet face. 

“ Tired o’ je? ” repeated Souter incredulously. 
“ A man would be a most fearful fool to gie up such 
a bonnie, sweet lassie as ye are. Noo, if I were only 
younger, Robbie Bums wouldna hae things all his 
own way, I tell ye,” and he nodded his head vigor- 
ously. 

“ I ken he has some trouble,” said Mary, not heed- 
ing his jocular efforts to cheer her, “ that makes 
him so unhappy like; if he would only let me share 
that trouble wi’ him, whate’er it is, how gladly I 
would do it.” 

Souter rubbed his bearded chin reflectively. 

“ Weel, Mary, ye ken Robert’s a genius,” he 
answered soberly. ‘‘ An’ ye can ne’er tell how a 
genius is gang to act, therefore ye must ne’er be 


HIGHLAND MARY 93 

surprised, Mary, at whatever he does, for genius is 
but anither name for eccentricity an’ — an’ perverse- 
ness,” and he sighed deeply, his kind old face wrin- 
kled with perplexity, 

“ I feel, Souter,” she continued, pathetically calm, 
“ that I am slowly, but surely, drifting out o’ his 
life forever.” She gazed suddenly into the face bend- 
ing over her solicitously. 

“ Dinna ye know the cause, Souter.? ” she asked 
beseechingly. 

He brushed his hand across his eyes and slowly 
shook his head. She sighed patiently and turned 
away her head and gazed listlessly into space. For a 
few moments there was deep silence, broken only 
by the bursts of laughter which came to them at 
intervals from within. 

“ Lassie, listen to me,” finally said the old man, 
his voice cheery and hopeful once more. “Ye 
mustna be so down-hearted; there is a cause for 
everything in this world, an’ I ken Robert loves ye 
wi’ all his heart, just the same as ever. Why, ye 
can see the glimmer o’ love in his e’e whene’er he 
looks at ye.” He smiled approvingly as Mary’s face 
brightened, then continued decidedly, “ Robert is well- 
nigh daft that he hasna heard frae Lord Glencaim 
all this time ; that is why he is sae worrid an’ nervous, 
sae moody an’ neglectful; noo cheer thee, lassie, it’ll 
all come right in time,” and he patted her shoulder 
lovingly. 


94 HIGHLAND MARY 


“ Oh, I feel sae much better, Souter,” she mur- 
mured, pressing his hand gratefully. An’ noo I’ll 
na borrow trouble any mair, thinkin’ Robert doesna’ 
love me.” She smiled happily and jumped lightly to 
her feet. 

“ Whist, Mary, why dinna ye make sure o’ that ? ” 
whispered Souter, looking around him mysteriously. 
She looked at him wonderingly. “ ’Tis Hallowe’en, 
ye ken, an’ a’ the witches an’ fairies are about this 
night an’ will grant any wish made. Try a charm, 
lassie.” 

‘‘ I did try one,” replied Mary with a sigh. “ I 
burned the nuts, but it didna’ come out right ; that’s 
what made me sad.” 

“ Ah, weel, try anither ; go pull a stock.” 

“ Oh, nay, I’m afraid to go out in the field at 
night,” she replied timidly, drawing back. ‘‘ But 
I’ll go if ye’U come wi’ me.” She held out her hand 
to him. 

“ Nay, thank ye, Mary,” he said grimly. “ I 
dinna’ care to see the face o’ my future wife just 
yet ; I fear I couldna’ stand the shock.” 

‘‘ Well, I darena’ go alone,” answered Mary decid- 
edly, her hand on the latch. “ Think of anither 
charm, one I can do indoors.” 

An’ do ye think the fairies will come around 
where ’tis light? ” he cried in amazement. “ Och, 
no, ye must go to the darkest place ye can find.” 


HIGHLAND MARY 95 

His little round eyes gazed into hers with solemn 
earnestness. 

Mary shivered with apprehension and peered into 
the darkness. ‘‘ Oh, Souter, think o’ the witches,” 
she said nervously. 

“ They willna’ hurt ye,” he answered a little im- 
patiently. “Ye maun sow a handful of hempseed 
an’ harrow it o’er wi’ anything ye can draw after 
ye, an’ repeat o’er and o’er,” assuming a guttural 
monotone : 

“ Hempseed, I sow thee ; hempseed, I sow thee. 

And him that is to be my true love. 

Come after me and draw thee.” 

“ And will I see him then ? ” whispered Mary 
eagerly, drawing near to him. 

“ Aye,” returned Souter hoarsely. “ Look over 
your left shoulder an’ ye’ll see your future hus- 
band pullin’ hemp. Noo, off wi’ ye; ye’ll find some 
seed in the barn.” Mary tried to summon up her 
courage, for she was highly superstitious, like all the 
peasantry, and was anxious to test the potency of 
the charm, and finally succeeded in taking a few 
faltering footsteps in the direction of the barn, 
when suddenly the door behind them opened, and 
Molly Dunn appeared in the doorway. She held in 
one hand a lighted candle, while in the other she car- 
ried a broken piece of looking-glass, into which she 


96 HIGHLAND MARY 

was gazing intently, her eyes fixed and staring. 
Behind her, crowding through the doorway, followed 
the now noiseless revelers, who were stifling their 
laughter to breathlessly watch the outcome of the 
well-known charm, whose power Molly had decided 
to put to a test, though believing staunchly in its 
potency. Molly majestically walked down the steps 
and across to the well, where, depositing her mirror 
on the curbing, she took from the pocket of her 
skirt a round, red apple, from which she bit a 
goodly piece and began vigorously to chew upon it, 
the while holding her candle above her head and anx- 
iously watching her reflection in the mirror. 

‘‘ Molly’s eatin’ the apple at the glass,” chuckled 
Souter to Mary softly. “ She’s lookin’ for the face 
o’ her future husband. Let’s hae some fun wi’ her.” 
He motioned to them all to keep silent, and stealing 
softly over to the unconscious Molly, intoned in a 
deep sepulchral voice, “ Molly Dunn, if ye would see 
your future husband, dinna’ ye dare turn your head 
this way.” 

Molly gave a shriek of terror, thereby choking 
herself with the piece of apple she was indus- 
triously eating, and falling on her knees, her teeth 
chattering in fear, she cried frantically, “ The 
witches ! the witches ! ” 

“ Nay, I’m the Deil himsel’,” answered Souter in 
awe-inspiring accents. Molly groaned aloud, in mor- 
tal terror, not daring to turn around. “ An’ I’ve 


HIGHLAND MARY 97 

come for ye, Molly Dunn,” slowly continued her 
tormentor. 

“ Nay, nay ! ” cried Molly, her eyes staring wildly 
in front of her. I want naught to do wi’ ye ; gang 
awa’, gang awa’ ! ” and she wildly waved her hands 
behind her. 

‘‘ Not till ye’ve seen the face o’ the man ye’ll 
wed,” replied the voice. “ Beauteous fairy of Hal- 
lowe’en, come forth,” he commanded majestically, 
beckoning to Mary to come nearer. She did so. 

Speak, kind fairy.” He whispered to her what to 
say to the awestruck Molly. 

Thus admonished, Mary, who was once more her 
old light-hearted winsome self, raised her sweet voice 
and spoke in a high falsetto, “ Gaze in the looking- 
glass, Molly Dunn ; eat o’ the apple, think o’ the one 
ye desire to see, an’ his face will appear beside 
yours.” 

‘‘ Behold, I pass the magic wand o’er your head, 
ye faithless woman,” added Souter threateningly. 

Hurriedly Molly complied with the injunctions, 
and patiently she knelt there, apple in hand, the 
candle light glaring full on her eager, ugly face, and 
the wisp of faded hair tied tightly on top of her head, 
which was waving wildly about, while she waited for 
the face to appear beside her own reflection in the 
glass. 

“ Do ye see him yet.f* ” asked Mary eagerly, 
forgetting her role of “ The Fairy of Hallowe’en,” 


98 HIGHLAND MARY 


and speaking in her natural tone, while the group 
at the doorway drew closer to the kneeling woman in 
their excited curiosity. 

“ Nay, not yet,” replied Molly in an awestruck 
whisper. 

“ Hold the candle higher,” admonished Souter, 

an’ eat quicker.” Molly did so. Noo do you 
see your handsome lover? ” He crept up slyly be- 
hind Molly, and bending over her shoulder, peered 
into the glass, where he beheld the shadowy reflection 
of his own face looming up beside that of the won- 
dering Molly. With a gasp of pleasure not unmixed 
with fear, she dropped the glass, and turning quickly 
grabbed the surprised Souter and held him close. As 
she raised her candle to see whom the fairies had sent 
to her, she recognized her tormentor, and with a 
shriek of rage, she clouted the laughing Souter over 
the head with her candlestick, amid peals of laughter 
from the delighted spectators, until he called for 
mercy. 

“ Dinna I suit ye, Molly? ” he asked in an injured 
tone, nursing his sorely punished head. 

“ Ye skelpie limmer’s face, ye, how dare ye try 
sich sportin’ wi’ me ? ” she cried angrily. 

“ The glass canna’ lie,” called out old Bess with 
a shake of her frilled cap. 

“ An’ ye seen Souter’s face there, Molly,” laughed 
Poosie Nancy loudly. “ There’s no gainsaying 
that.” 


HIGHLAND MARY 99 

I want a braw mon, a handsome mon,” whim- 
pered Molly. “ Ye’re no a mon at all, ye wee skelpie 
limmer.” The burst of laughter which greeted this 
sally was very disconcerting to Souter, whose height, 
five feet two inches, was distinctly a sore subject. 

Try anither charm, Molly,” said Mary, feeling 
sorry for the poor innocent. 

‘‘ Aye, I will,” replied Molly eagerly, drying her 
tears with the back of her hand. 

Then come alang,” said Souter, ready to make 
amends. “ Come an’ pull a stock. Gie me your 
hand.” She did so eagerly. “ Noo shut your eyes 
tight ; that’s it ; come along noo.” But Molly braced 
herself and refused to move. 

“ I’m afeered o’ the dark an’ the witches,” she fal- 
tered, her teeth chattering, her eyes so tightly closed 
that her face was drawn into a mass of deep wrinkles. 

They all crowded round the couple with words of 
praise and encouragement, and presently Molly was 
persuaded to take a step forward and then another, 
and finally the two moved slowly away and were 
swallowed up in the darkness. 

Meanwhile the rest of the revelers, after a whis- 
pered consultation, hurried to the outhouse, amid 
smothered shrieks of laughter. 

Molly and Souter walked slowly and timidly toward 
the field of corn, which looked unreal and shadowy 
in the pale moonlight. Molly’s few remaining teeth 
were now chattering so loudly that Souter be- 


of 


100 HIGHLAND MARY 

gan to grow nervous. He jerked her arm impa- 
tiently. 

“ Be a mon, Molly,” he hoarsely whispered, his 
voice a little shaky. 

“ I’m afeered to,” she answered, opening her eyes 
and looking fearfully around. They took a few 
more stumbling step, then stopped. 

“ Och, get off my foot, ye towsie tyke!” cried 
Souter. Molly hastily removed the offending mem- 
ber and on they went again. Suddenly they stopped, 
rooted to the spot in terror. A low, blood-curdling 
moan had rent the stillness. Again it came, chilling 
the very blood in their veins by its awful weirdness. 

“ The witches 1 the witches ! ” gasped Molly in 
abject fear. 

Turning, they beheld a sight that caused their 
hair to stand on end, “ the marrow to congeal 
in their bones,” as Souter afterward explained the 
sensation which came over him. Coming toward 
them was a score or more of hideous apparitions with 
fire blazing from their eyes and their horribly grin- 
ning mouths, and groaning and moaning like lost 
souls. With a mortal cry of terror, the frightened 
couple sped on wings of fear back to the friendly 
hght of the kitchen, the ghostly figures darting after 
them with diabolical bursts of laughter. As they 
slammed the door of the house behind them their pur- 
suers stopped and quickly blew out their Jack-o’- 
Lanterns and then threw them to one side. 


HIGHLAND MARY 101 

“ I didna ken mortal mon could e’er run so fast,” 
snickered Poosie Nancy to the others as they noise- 
lessly entered the kitchen in time to hear the wonder- 
ful tale of Souter’s hairbreadth escape from the 
witches. 

Another hour of mirth and jollity, of dance and 
song soon sped around. Souter and Molly were still 
the center of an admiring group, for they had seen 
the witches with their own eyes, and that distinction 
was theirs alone that night. Suddenly the old clock 
struck twelve, then began a merry scrambling for 
bonnets and plaids. Having donned them, they 
noisily crowded around their hostesses, who were 
lined up against the wall, waiting ceremoniously to 
be thanked for their hospitality and to bid their part- 
ing guests godspeed. As the darts of homely wit 
and repartee flew back and forth among them, caus- 
ing the lads to burst into uproarious laughter or 
to grin in awkward bashfulness, and the lassies to 
turn their heads away blushingly or to toss their 
curls coquettishly, the door burst in suddenly, and 
Tam O’Shanter staggered to the center of the floor, 
pale, wild-eyed, and disheveled. 

“ Tam O’Shanter ! ” they cried, gazing at him in 
startled amazement. Souter quickly reached his old 
cronie’s side. 

“ What’s the matter, mon.? hae ye seen a ghost.? ” 
he asked concernedly. 

“ Aye, worse than that, much worse,” hoarsely 


102 HIGHLAND MARY 


replied Tam, wiping the sweat from off his forehead 
with a trembling hand. 

“What’s happened.^” cried old Bess fearfully. 

“ Calm yoursel’ an’ tell us, Tam,” said Souter 
soothingly. They brought him a chair, for he trem- 
bled like an aspen leaf. Throwing himself into it, 
he gazed about him fearfully, the while struggling 
to regain his breath. 

“ Well, ’tis this way, Souter,” he began presently 
in a husky whisper. “ I left the Arms Inn about an 
Hour ago or thereabouts an’ started for hame, for 
’tis a long ride to Carrick, ye ken, an’ a most uncanny 
ride e’en in the daylight.” 

“ That’s true,” affirmed Poosie Nancy with a nod 
of conviction to the others. 

“ Weel,” continued Tam impressively, “a few 
miles beyond the Maypole road ye have to pass a 
dark, uncanny spot, the cairn where the hunters 
found the murdered bairn. Ye ken the spot, Sou- 
ter.? ” turning to him for confirmation. 

Souter nodded his head quickly. “ Aye, Tam, I 
ken it weel, for ’twas near there old Mingo’s mother 
hanged hersel’.” Old Bess looked over her shoulder 
nervously. 

“ Aye,” eagerly assented Tam, then he continued, 
“ Weel, a weird sight awaited me there ; my blood 
runs cold noo. Suddenly I heard a sound o’ music 
and revelry, and Maggie stopped still, frightened 
stiff. I looked up, and glimmering thro’ the trees 


HIGHLAND MARY 103 

was auld Kirk Alloway all a blaze o’ light.” He 
paused to note the effect of his astounding statement. 

They looked at each other disbelievingly. Some 
turned angrily away, muttering to themselves. Was 
old Tam making sport of them.?^ 

“ Go alang, mon,” cried Poosie Nancy with an 
incredulous sniff of her pug nose. “ ’Tis naught but 
an old tumbled down ruin.” 

“ I’m telling ye gospel truth,” replied Tam ear- 
nestly. They crowded around again, ready to be 
convinced, though still eying him distrustfully. 

“ Well, I was nae afraid,” continued Tam bash- 
fully, “ for I was inspired by bold John Barleycorn, 
so I rode Maggie close to the wall an’ there thro’ 
the openin’, I saw inside, and wow! I saw an unco 
sight I ” Tam was becoming warmed up with his 
recital. The eager, excited faces crowding around 
him had restored his courage and flattered his van- 
ity. He paused impressively, his eyes fixed and 
staring, gazing straight past the faces of his 
listeners as though he saw the unco sight again. He 
noted with pleasure the frightened glances they gave 
over their shoulders. Then he proceeded slowly in a 
sibilant whisper, “ There were warlocks and witches 
dancin’ hornpipes and jigs around the Kirk, dressed 
only in their sarks. There were open coffins standin’ 
around like clothespresses, an’ in each coffin stood a 
corpse holdin’ in its cauld hand a burnin’ light. An’ 
by that light I saw two span-lang wee urichristened 


104 HIGHLAND MARY 


bairns, white and cold upon the holy table.” Tam 
wiped the sweat off his brow and moistened his dry 
lips ; then he proceeded with his harrowing tale. 
“ Beside the bairns lay a bloody knife wi’ gray hairs 
still sticking to the heft an’ ” 

But with a shudder of fear, their faces blanched 
and drawn, they exclaimed in doubting horror, 
“ Nay ! ” “ Stop ! ” “ Out on ye, mon ! ” “ It’s nae 
true ! ” etc. Tam was not to be cut off in the midst 
of his tale so unceremoniously. 

He rose excitedly from his seat and continued 
rapidly. “ The dancers were twisting and turning 
like snakes, and there in a winnock-bunker sat Auld 
Nick himsel’, in the shape of a beast, playing the 
pipes. Och, friends, it was an inspirin’ sight, and in 
my excitement I yelled out ” 

“ What ? ” cried the lads in unison. 

“‘Well done. Cutty Sark!”’ shouted Tam, 
proudly, well pleased at his own temerity. 

They boisterously applauded him for his courage, 
but the lassies still clung to each other nervously. 

“ Then what happened, Tam.^ ” asked Souter quiz- 
zingly. He could not quite bring himself to believe 
Tam’s improbable tale, he knew the old sinner so 
well. 

“ Weel, the lights went out in an instant,” contin- 
ued Tam dramatically. “ I had no sooner turned 
Maggie’s head than out poured those unco witches 
like bees buzzin’ in anger. I didna’ stop to meet 


HIGHLAND MARY 105 

them, for Maggie, knowing her danger, bounded off 
like a terrified deer and plunged off desperately 
through the trees toward the brig with all these 
witches followin’ wi’ eldritch screeches, close to her 
heels till I could feel their breath on my clammy neck. 
Oh, what an awful moment for me! but I knew if I 
could but reach the keystone of the auld brig I 
would be safe, for witches darena cross a running 
stream, ye ken. Mag did her speedy utmost, but old 
Nannie pursued close behind and flew at me with tooth 
and nail, but she didna’ know my Maggie’s mettle,” 
Tam laughed gleefully, “ for with one grand leap 
she reached the brig and saved her master’s life, 
just as that Carline Nannie caught her by the 
rump, an’ my poor Maggie left behind her old gray 
tail.” 

As he finished his recital he gazed around him 
triumphantly. There was an audible sigh of relief 
f rom all. 

“ That’s a burning shame,” said old Bess sym- 
pathetically, alluding to the loss of Maggie’s tail. 

“ What a wonderful experience ye had, Tam,” 
cried Poosie Nancy admiringly. They all congrat- 
ulated him on his narrow escape and pressed food and 
drink on him, showered him with words of praise, and 
in short made him out a daring hero, much to Sou- 
ter’s disgust. He sat apart from the rest in dignified 
silence, his heart wounded and sore, for was not his 
late ghostly exploit completely ignored and forgot- 


106 HIGHLAND MARY 

ten ? “ Le Roi est mort, vive le Roi,” he might have 

said to himself. 

“ Listen,” cried Tam, jumping to his feet, his face 
tense with eagerness. Faintly the patter, patter of 
a horse’s hoofs was heard drawing nearer and 
nearer. 

“ ’Tis only someone cornin’ alang the highway,” 
said Souter carelessly. 

‘‘ ’Tis my Maggie,” cried Tam almost tearfully. 
“ She’s cornin’ back for her master,” and with a 
bound he reached the open doorway. A few steps 
took him to the stone wall along the other side of 
which ran the King’s Highway. “ She’s cornin’, she’s 
cornin’, my faithful Maggie is cornin’,” he cried joy- 
fully. 

“ She must be an unco sight wi’out a tail, Tam,” 
sneered Souter. A roar of laughter greeted this 
sarcastic retort. 

“ Dinna’ ye dare laugh,” cried Tam, turning on 
them furiously. The hoof beats stopped suddenly. 
In the misty moonlight they caught a glimpse of 
a huge white creature, looking very spectral and 
ghost-like, impatiently tossing its head from side to 
side as if in search of something or someone. With 
a glad cry Tam vaulted the fence, old as he was, 
and dashed down the road, calling lovingly, ‘‘ I’m 
cornin’, Maggie, I’m cornin’ to ye.” A whinny of 
delight, a snort of pleasure, greeted him as he reached 
his old mare’s side. Then like a phantom, the old 


HIGHLAND MARY 107 


gray mare and her rider sped swiftly past them on 
into the night and away toward Carrick. 

Silently they watched them, while the hoofbeats 
grew fainter and fainter and then were lost to sound. 
Such was Tam O’Shanter’s tale, the fame of which 
soon spread throughout all Ayrshire. 


CHAPTER IX 


In a sequestered spot beside the brook which runs 
through the lower end of the big field at Mossgiel 
farm, Robert sat dreamily watching the shallow brook 
at his feet slowly trickle along over the stones. He 
had left the field, his heart filled with anger against 
his brother, who had been reproving him for his 
thoughtlessness, his absent-mindedness ; but gradually 
his temper had melted, and removing his bonnet from 
his fevered brow, he had given himself up to his 
reveries. A little later Gilbert found him there, his 
loose unbleached linen shirt open at the neck, 
eagerly writing on a scrap of paper he held in his 
hand. 

The last few weeks Gilbert had thrown off his 
cloak of habitual reserve, and had treated his brother 
with less harshness, less severity. He had watched 
the slowly drifting apart of the lovers with wonder 
and delight. Could it be that they were tiring of each 
other.? he asked himself over and over again. If 
that were so then perhaps some day — ^but he would 
not permit himself to think of the future. He would 
be happy in the present. For he was comparatively 
happy now, happier than he had ever expected to be. 
Since Robert’s avoidance of her, Mary had again 
108 


HIGHLAND MARY 109 

turned to him for sympathy, and once more they were 
on their old friendly footing. True she was a sad, 
despondent companion, but he was blissfully happy 
just to walk beside her from kirk, to listen to the 
sound of her sweet voice, even though his brother was 
the only topic of conversation, to feel the touch of 
her little hand as he helped her over the stile. He 
thought of all this now as he regarded his brother in 
thoughtful silence. Presently he called his name. 
Receiving no answer, he strode through the overhang- 
ing willows and touched him quietly on the shoulder. 

With a start Robert looked up into his brother’s 
face, then he turned slowly away. “ What is wrong 
noo, Gilbert ? ” he asked bitterly. “ It seems I will 
be doing nothing right o’ late.” 

“ Nothin’ is wrong, lad,” replied Gilbert, his face 
reddening. ‘‘ I — I only came to tell ye I am sorry I 
spoke sae harshly to ye just noo.” 

“ Say no more, brother,” replied Robert quickly, 
rising with outstretched hand, his face bright and 
smiling. So ready was he to forgive any unkindness 
when his pardon was sought. ‘‘ ’Tis all forgot. I 
ken I do try your patience sore wi’ my forgetfulness 
and carelessness, but I couldna’ help it. The voice of 
the Goddess Muse, whom I adore, suddenly whispered 
in my ear and I forgot my work, my surroundings, 
and stood enraptured, entranced behind my patient 
steed, catchin’ the thoughts and fancies that were 
tumblin’, burstin’ from my brain, eager to be let 


110 HIGHLAND MARY 

loose, and this is the fruit o’ my inspiration almost 
perfected.” He handed his brother the paper on 
which he had been writing. 

‘‘ Is it a song of harvesting ” asked Gilbert sar- 
castically without glancing at it. 

“ Nay,” replied Robert softly. “ ’Tis called the 
‘ Cotter’s Saturday Night,’ an’ ye will recognize, no 
doubt, the character and the theme, for ’tis partly 
of our own and of our father’s life I have written. 
’Tis my best work, Gilbert, I ken truly.” He eagerly 
watched his brother’s face as he slowly read the verses 
through. 

May the light of success shine on it,” he said 
kindly, when he had finished. “ But it seems o’er 
doubtful noo that the world will e’er see this, or any 
of your verses, for not a word hae ye heard from 
Edinburgh since ye sent Sir William Creech your 
collection of poems.” 

Robert raised his head and regarded his brother 
in despairing hopelessness. “ I ken it weel, brother,” 
he replied. ‘‘ And my heart grows sick and weary, 
waitin’, waitin’, for tidings, be they good or bad. 
Two lang months have passed since I sent him my 
collection, an’ still not a word, not a sign. Nae doubt 
they were thrown in a comer, overlooked an’ neg- 
lected.” For a moment he stood there gazing across 
the fields, his vision blurred by the tears of disap- 
pointment which filled his eyes. “ Oh, why did Lord 
Glencaim raise my hopes so high.? ” he cried passion- 


highland MARY 111 

ately, “ only to have them dashed to the ground 
again.” Gilbert remained silent, his eyes cast down. 
The sight of his brother’s misery touched him keenly. 
But there was nothing he could say. “ I believed him 
and trusted to his honor, his promise,” continued 
Robert dejectedly, “ an’ for what.?^ ” He put on his 
bonnet and clasping his hands behind him in his 
characteristic attitude, slowly walked toward the cot- 
tage, a prey to his gloomy thoughts. 

‘‘ Be patient, Rob, yet a while,” said Gilbert 
encouragingly, as he walked along beside him. 
“ Who kens what the morrow will bring forth? ” 

“ The morrow ? ” repeated Robert grimly. Me- 
thinks I’ll ne’er know peace an’ tranquillity again 
on this earth.” 

They strode on in silence. As they neared the 
cottage Gilbert laid his hand on his brother’s shoul- 
der, bringing him to a standstill. ‘‘ Robert,” 
he said quietly and firmly, I want to speak to ye 
about Mary.” 

Robert turned his head away abruptly. What 
of her? ” he asked in a low voice. 

“ What are your intentions toward her ? ” de- 
manded Gilbert earnestly. “ Do ye intend to marry 
her, or are ye but triflin’ idly wi’ her affections? ” 

Robert turned on him quickly. “ Triflin’ ? ” he 
repeated indignantly. “ Nay, Gilbert, ye wrong me 
deeply.” 

“ Forgive me, but ye ken Mary is not like other 


112 HIGHLAND MARY 

lassies to think lightly o’,” said Gilbert, his eye 
searching his brother’s face keenly. 

“ Heaven forbid,” ejaculated Robert in a low, 
tense voice. 

“ I canna’ understand your conduct o’ late,” con- 
tinued Gilbert earnestly. “ I fear your stay in 
Mauchline is responsible for the great change in ye, 
for ye are not the same lad ye were when ye left 
hame. I fear ye have sadly departed from those 
strict rules of virtue and moderation ye were taught 
by your parents, Robert.” 

“What mean ye, Gilbert?” inquired Robert, 
startled. 

“ Ah, Rob,” responded Gilbert, shaking his head 
sadly, “ I ken mair than ye think ; reports travel e’en 
in the country.” 

The thought that his wild escapades were known 
to his narrow-minded though upright brother, and 
perhaps to others, filled Robert with sudden shame. 
“ Weel, Gilbert,” he replied, trying to speak lightly, 
“Ye ken that I have been failin’ in love and out 
again wi’ a’ the lassies ever since I was fifteen, but 
nae thought of evil ever entered my mind, ye ken that 
weel.” 

“ Aye, I ken that,” answered Gilbert quickly, 
“ until ye went to Mauchline. And noo ye have 
come back a changed lad, your vows to Mary for- 
gotten. If I thought ye would try to wrong 
her ” he stopped abruptly, for Robert had faced 


HIGHLAND MARY 113 

him, white and trembling, his eyes flashing indig- 
nantly. 

“ Stop, Gilbert ! ” he commanded, intensely calm. 
“ Mary Campbell’s purity is as sacred to me as an 
angel’s in heaven. I would sooner cut my tongue 
out by the roots than to willingly say aught to cause 
her a moment’s misery or sorrow. Ye cruelly mis- 
judge me, Gilbert.” He turned away, feeling hurt 
and angry that he should be so misundersood by his 
brother, and yet was he misjudging him, was he not 
indeed causing her much sorrow.? he asked himself 
bitterly. 

Soon the whole guilty truth must be disclosed, 
his faithlessness, his unworthiness. If she suffered 
now, what would be her misery when she learned 
that an insurmountable barrier had arisen between 
them, cruelly separating them forever. The thought 
filled him with unspeakable anguish. 

“ Forgive me, Rob, for my hasty words,” said 
Gilbert remorsefully. “ But ye ken Mary is very 
dear to — ^to us all ; that is why I spoke so plainly.” 

At that moment the door of the cottage opened and 
the object of their discussion stepped into view. The 
poor little moth could not help fluttering around the 
candle, and so she was to be found at Mossgiel when- 
ever her duties would permit her to steal away. 

“ Oh, here ye are, lads,” she called out to them, 
her face brightening. “ Will ye be cornin’ in to tea 
noo ? ” They did not answer. “ My, what long 


114 HIGHLAND MARY 

faces ye both have,” she continued, smiling. “ This 
isna’ the Sabbath Day, so there’s no need of such 
sorrowful faces.” 

“ I didna’ ken ye were here,” answered Gilbert, 
going toward her. 

Robert sat down by the well, the look of pain on 
his melancholy face deepening as he listened to her 
gentle voice. He closed his eyes wearily and leaned 
back against the curbing, the paper held loosely in 
his hand. It was so hard to realize that never again 
would he press that form to his aching heart, that he 
must renounce her utterly. Oh, if he could only die 
now, how much better it would be for them all, he 
weakly told himself. 

“ I’m going to stay here to tea wi’ ye this night,” 
said Mary wistfully. Why didn’t Robert speak to 
her just one word of greeting she thought sadly. 
‘‘ Your mother bade me tell ye supper is waiting 
whenever ye are ready.” She took a few halting 
steps toward the well. “ Are ye cornin’ in, Robert ? ” 
she inquired timidly. 

“ In a wee,” he answered quietly, without looking 
at her. “ After I have finished my poem.” Mary 
turned back, crushed to the heart by his apparent 
coldness. 

“ Weel, lads,” cried Mrs. Bums brightly, stepping 
out on the low, broad stoop followed by Souter, who 
held a cup of steaming tea in one hand and some oat- 
cakes in the other, on which he nibbled with evident 


HIGHLAND MARY 115 

relish. “ I heard your voices and couldna’ stay 
within,” and she beamed on them lovingly. 

“ Ye’re at it again, I see, Robert,” observed Sou- 
ter tactlessly. Robert flushed angrily. He was 
easily irritated in his present state of mind. “ Ye’ll 
write yoursel’ into the grave, mon; ye’re not lookin’ 
very peart the noo.” 

Mrs. Bums regarded her eldest son with anxious 
eyes. “ Aye, I fear, laddie, ye are too intent on your 
rhymin’,” she said solicitously. His abstracted moods, 
his melancholy moroseness had filled her loving heart 
with gloomy forebodings. “ Sae much livin’ in the 
clouds, my son, is unhealthful, an’ does but make ye 
moody an’ uncertain in temper. Is it worth while 
to wreck body, mind an’ soul to gain a little fame 
an’ fortune, which, alas, seem so very far off.? ” she 
asked, putting her hand lovingly on his bowed head. 

‘‘ Ye dinna’ understand, mither,” he replied sadly. 
“ I love to write. ’Tis my very life; thought flows 
unbidden from my brain.” He rose to his feet and 
pointing to the stream, which could be faintly seen 
at the foot of the hill, continued with mournful final- 
ity, “ Why, mother, I might as well try to stop the 
waters of yonder mshin’ brook as to attempt to 
smother the poetic fancies that cry for utterance. 
Nay, ’tis too late noo to dissuade me from my pur- 
pose,” and he turned and watched the setting sun 
slowly sink behind the distant hills in a flood of golden 
splendor. 


116 HIGHLAND MARY 


Souter noticed with uneasiness the gloom which 
had settled upon them all as the result of his care- 
less words. Why was he such a thoughtless fool? 
Ah, well, he would make them forget their troubles. 

“ Och, Mistress Burns,” he cried, smacking his 
lips with apparent relish, “ ’tis a mighty fine cup 
of tea, a perfectly grand cup. It fair cheers the 
heart of mon,” and he drained it to the bottom. 

‘‘ An’ where do ye think the oatcakes were made, 
Souter? ” asked Mary brightly. 

“ Weel, I’m no’ a good hand at guessin’,” he an- 
swered, thoughtfully scratching his head; “but by 
their taste an’ sweetness, I should say that Mistress 
Burns made them hersel’.” 

The good dame regarded him witheringly. “ I 
didna’ ken that oatcakes were sweet, Souter,” she 
retorted. 

Mary laughed softly at his discomfiture. “ Weel, 
they come frae my sister in Applecross.” 

“ Applecross ! ” he repeated, his face lighting up 
with pleasure. “ Noo I mind they did have the High- 
land flavor, for true.” 

“ Aye, an’ ye finished the last one for that reason, 
no doubt,” replied Mrs. Bums wrathfully. “ Ye’re 
a pig, mon. Come awa’, lads, your supper will be 
gettin’ cold,” and she led the way inside, followed 
meekly by Souter. Gilbert waited for Mary to 
enter, but she stood wistfully gazing at Robert. 


HIGHLAND MARY 117 

With a sigh he left them together, and Robert en- 
tered the cottage. 

Mary slowly approached Robert as he stood look- 
ing across to the distant hills, and patiently waited 
for him to speak to her, but he stood there in tense 
silence, not daring to trust himself to even look 
at the pure flower-like face held up to his so plead- 
ingly. 

“ Robbie,” she said timidly after a pause, which 
seemed interminable to them both, “ willna’ ye let 
the sunlight enter your heart an’ be your old bonnie 
sel’ once mair.? It will make us all sae happy.” 
She put her hand on his arm lovingly. “ Why are 
ye sae changed, laddie.? Dinna’ ye want me to love 
ye any mair.? ” 

At the gentle touch of her fingers an uncontrol- 
lable wave of passionate love and longing came over 
him, sweeping away all resolutions resistlessly. 
“ Oh, my Mary, my Mary,” he cried hoarsely. “ I 
do want your love, I do want it noo an’ forever,” 
and he clasped her lovingly to his aching heart. 
Blissfully she lay in his strong arms while he show- 
ered her flushed and happy face with the hun- 
gry, fervent, loving kisses which he had denied 
himself so long, and murmured little caressing words 
of endearment which filled her soul with rapture and 
happiness. “ How I love ye, Mary,” he breathed in 
her ear again and again as he held her close. 


118 HIGHLAND MARY 


“ An’ how happy ye make me once mair, laddie,” 
she answered, nestling against him lovingly. 

“ An’ how happy we will ,” . he began, then 

stopped pale and trembling, for grim recollection 
had suddenly loomed up before him with all its train 
of bitter, ugly facts; and conscience began to drum 
insistently into his dulled ear. “ Tell her the truth 
now, the whole truth,” it said. But the voice of the 
tempter whispered persuasively, saying, “ Why tell 
her now? wait, let her be happy while she may, put 
it off as long as possible.” 

“What is it, Robbie?” cried Mary fearfully. 
“ Tell me what is troublin’ ye ; dinna’ be afraid.” 
His bowed head bent lower and lower. 

“ Oh, Mary, I’m sae unworthy, sae unworthy of all 
your pure thoughts, your tender love,” he faltered 
despairingly, resolved to tell her all. “Ye dinna’ ken 
all my weakness, my deception, and into what depths 
of sin I have fallen.” She sought to interrupt him, 
but he continued rapidly, his voice harsh with the 
nervous tension, his face pallid from the stress of 

his emotions. “ I have a confession to make ye ” 

“ Nay, nay, laddie,” cried Mary, putting her hand 
over his trembling lips. “ Dinna’ tell me anything. 
I want nae confession from ye, except that o’ your 
love,” and she smoothed his cheek tenderly. “Ye 
ken that is music to my ears at all times, but if ye 
are deceivin’ me, if ye have na always been true 
to me, an’ your vows, why, laddie, keep the knowl- 


HIGHLAND MARY 119 

edge to yourself’. I am content noo, and ye ken 
happiness is such a fleetin’ thing that I mean to cling 
to it as long as I can.” She took his hands in both 
her own and held them close to her heart. ‘‘ Ye ken, 
Robbie, ill news travels apace and ’twill reach my 
ears soon enough,” she continued with a mournful 
little quaver in her voice. “ But no matter what 
comes, what ye may do, my love for ye will overlook 
it all ; I will see only your virtues, my love, not your 
vices.” 

Robert bowed his head in heart-broken silence. 
Grief, shame, and remorse like tongues of fiery flames 
were scorching and burning into his very soul. 
Quietly they sat there engrossed in their thoughts, 
till the voice of Mrs. Bums calling to them from the 
cottage to come to supper roused them from their 
lethargy. 

“ We’re cornin’ right awa’,” answered Mary 
brightly. ‘‘ Come, laddie, we mustna’ keep the folks 
watin’.” 

She took his listless hand and drew him gently to 
the door and into the cottage. 

Silently they took their places at the table, around 
which the others were already seated. 

“ By the way,” said old blind Donald, the fiddler, 
who had dropped in on his way to Mauchline for a 
bite and a cup, “ Poosie Nancy told me to tell ye. 
Mistress Burns, that she wa drop in to see ye this 
night.” 


120 HIGHLAND MARY 


“ We’ll be glad to see her,” replied Mrs. Burns 
hospitably. 

“ And Daddy Auld says he’ll be along, too,” con- 
tinued Donald, grinning broadly. “ That is, if he 
isna’ too busy convertin’ souls.” 

“ Convertin’ souls,” sneered Souter incredulously. 

‘‘ Aye, ye should see the Jolly Beggars he was 
haranguin’. They were jumpin’, an’ rantin’, an’ 
singin’ like daft Methodists.” 

“ The auld hypocrites ! ” cried Mrs. Burns, butter- 
ing a scone which she placed in the old man’s tremu- 
lous hand. “ They didna’ go to the manse for con- 
version ; ’tis a square meal they are after. They ken 
the kind old heart o’ Daddy Auld.” 

Souter leaned back in his chair and smiled reminis- 
cently. “ That reminds me o’ a guid story,” he be- 
gan, chuckling. 

“ Never mind that story noo,” remonstrated Mrs. 
Burns, who was in constant dread of Souter’s risque 
stories. “ That’ll keep.” 

“ I never can tell that damn story,” ejaculated Sou- 
ter wrathfully. 


CHAPTER X 


They had finished their meager supper, and now 
sat comfortably around the fire, Mrs. Burns and 
Mary busy with their knitting, the men contentedly 
smoking, while old Donald discordantly tuned up his 
fiddle. 

“ Noo, Donald,” said Souter briskly, “ play us 
something lively.” 

“ Aye, I’ll play ye the Highland Fling, Souter 
Johnny, an’ ye can dance. Come alang noo,” and 
he started to play vigorously, keeping time with his 
foot. 

“ Aye, get out on the floor, Souter,” said Gilbert, 
pulling him out of his chair, 

“ Nay, nay, lad,” expostulated Souter fretfully, 
“ I be too old to fling the toe noo.” 

“ Go alang wi’ ye, mon,” retorted Mrs. Burns 
encouragingly ; “ a Scotsman, and a Highlander be- 
sides, is ne’er too old to ” 

“ To learn,” interrupted Gilbert brightly, swinging 
the old man to the middle of the floor. “ Let her 
go.” 

“ I havena danced for years,” said Souter apolo- 
getically. Carefully knocking the ashes out of his 
pipe he deposited it in the pocket of his capacious 
121 


122 HIGHLAND MARY 


waistcoat and proceeded to divest himself of his coat. 
“Ye ken I was the champion dancer of my clan, Clan 
McDougal, when I was a young lad,” he announced 
boastingly. “ An’ mony a time I have cheered an’ 
amused the lads, while tentin’ on the fields of Cullo- 
den, before the big battle. An’ that reminds me o’ 
a guid ” 

“ Never mind the story,” said Gilbert impatiently. 
“ Gie us a dance.” 

After a few preliminary movements Souter caught 
the swinging measure of the dance, and once started 
he limbered up surprisingly. On he danced nimbly, 
and untiringly, soon ably proving to his delighted au- 
dience that he had not forgotten his old-time accom- 
plishment. “ I’ll show these Lowlanders what a 
Highlander can do,” thought the old man proudly. 
Panting with excitement and eagerness he failed to 
hear the metallic patter of horses’ hoofs drawing 
near the cottage. Nearer and nearer they came 
unheeded by all save one. 

From his seat by the fireplace, where he sat in 
melancholy silence, Robert heard the sound, but gave 
it no heed. Suddenly it ceased. He raised his head 
to listen. Someone had surely stopped at the gate, 
he thought, straining his ears eagerly, but the noise 
of the fiddle and the dancing drowned all sound 
from without. He glanced quickly at the smiling 
faces of the others as they good-naturally watched 
the dancer. “ I must hae been mistaken,” he mut- 


HIGHLAND MARY 123 

tered uneasily. Suddenly he leaned forward, grasp- 
ing his chair hard; surely he had heard his name 
faintly called. He listened intently. Yes, there it 
was again ; this time the voice was nearer. A woman’s 
voice, too. What could it mean.?^ He rose to his 
feet, his heart thumping fiercely, his muscles alert 
and tense, his eyes fixed on the door, his mind filled 
with gloomy presentiment. 

At that moment an imperative knock sounded 
loudly through the room, and almost at the same time 
the door flew open violently, and Jean Armour im- 
petuously dashed in. Closing the door quickly be- 
hind her she leaned back against it, pale and 
exhausted. Her riding habit of green and gold was 
splashed and discolored with mud. The large hat 
with its gleaming white plume hung limply over her 
shoulder, while her black disheveled hair streamed 
over her face and down her back in bewildering con- 
fusion. She had evidently ridden fast and furious, 
for she stood there with her eyes closed, her hand on 
her heart, gasping for breath. 

Quickly Mrs. Burns led the exhausted girl to a 
seat. In a few moments she raised her drooping head 
and with wild frightened eyes searched the room till 
her gaze fell on Robert, who was leaning white and 
speechless against the fireplace, a great fear in his 
heart. 

She rose quickly and going to him said in a tense, 
rapid whisper, “ Robert, my father knows all, but 


124 HIGHLAND MARY 


through no fault of mine. Some idle gossip reached 
his ear to-day, and when he returned home and learned 
my condition his rage was terrible. He cursed you 
like a madman, and would have done me bodily harm 
had I remained within sight. But I feared for my 
life, and fled before I had explained the truth to him. 
I have come to you to protect me.” 

He listened to her in stony silence. The blow had 
fallen so suddenly, so unexpectedly, it found him 
totally unprepared to ward o^F its paralyzing effects. 
He tried to speak, but the words refused to leave his 
parched tongue. He felt benumbed and cold, all the 
blood in his body seeming to have suddenly congealed. 
As he stood there with the eyes of all riveted upon 
him he left like the veriest criminal that walked the 
earth. 

For a moment there was a tense silence. Jean 
stood there anxiously gazing into Robert’s stricken 
face, as he vainly strove to utter a sound. Mary 
had watched the little scene before her in growing 
wonder and alarm and now leaned back against the 
wall, her heart beating with some unknown, nameless 
fear. What did this highborn lady want with her 
laddie.'’ she asked herself jealously. 

Mrs. Burns stood grimly waiting for some ex- 
planation of the scene she had just witnessed, but 
had not heard nor understood. ‘‘ Robert, my son,” 
she said finally, her voice cold and firm, “ what 
does Squire Armour’s daughter want of ye? ” There 



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HIGHLAND MARY 125 


was no answer. “What is she to ye, Robert.?” 
she sternly insisted. Slowly he raised his head. As 
she saw his wild and haggard face, from which all 
the life and youth had fled, she started back in 
horror, a startled exclamation on her lips. 

With a despairing, heart-broken look at Mary’s 
wondering face, he bowed his head and falteringly 
uttered the fatal words, “ She is my wife, mither.” 

Had a thunderbolt from a clear sky unroofed 
the humble cot, it would not have created the con- 
sternation, the terror which those few words struck 
to those loving hearts. 

Mrs. Burns was the first to rally from the shock. 
“Your wife.?” she repeated incredulously, looking 
from one to the other. 

With a cry of grief and pain Mary sank weak 
and trembling into a chair, like a deer wounded unto 
death. She gazed at them heart-brokenly, while her 
little hands nervously fluttered about her face. No, 
no, he could not mean it. They were only joking, 
surely. “ Not that, Robbie, ye dinna mean that, 
dearie .? ” she gasped piteously, holding out a beseech- 
ing hand to him. His bowed head bent lower. 

“ Do ye mean ye have legally married this lass? ” 
asked Gilbert eagerly. Mary would be free then, 
he thought wildly. Free to be wooed and won. 

“ We were married a few weeks ago,” answered 
Robert dully. “ I had not the courage to tell ye 
before.” 


126 HIGHLAND MARY 


Besides,” interposed Jean, arranging her disor- 
dered toilet, “ I wished to keep the marriage from my 
father for a — a time.” She blushed crimson. 

“ I willna believe my son ever married ye of his 
own free will,” cried Mrs. Burns bitterly, ‘‘ fine 
rich lady that ye are. He loves only that sweet 
lass, Mary Campbell.” Quickly she reached Mary’s 
side, and, raising the stricken child in her motherly 
arms, she kissed her tenderly and pressed the golden 
head gently against her loving heart. 

Jean looked at them, a look of resentment in her 
flashing eyes. “ I know that full well,” she answered 
sullenly. “ I know Robert hasn’t married me be- 
cause he wanted to, but because ” she looked down 

shame-faced. “ Because there was no alternative. 
Now you know the truth,” she concluded bitterly. 

“ Ye shameless creature ! ” cried Mrs. Burns, her 
eyes blazing with indignation. “Ye have trapped 
him into this marriage, but ye shall na stay beneath 
this roof, ye limmer,” and she glared at the flushed 
defiant girl in righteous anger. 

“ Mither, mither ! ” cried Robert distractedly, 
“ dinna, for God’s sake; she is my wife in truth, an’ 
she must stay wi’ me noo till I can prepare anither 
hame for her. Dinna make it harder for me.” He 
gazed pleadingly in his mother’s stern and angry 
face. 

Mary pressed her lips to the quivering cheek. 
“ Mistress Bums,” she said softly, “ what is to be. 


HIGHLAND MARY 127 

will be. I forgive them both wi’ all my heart.” She 
paused and sighed with gentle resignation. Then she 
continued, “ An’ — an’ I hope they will both find peace 
in their new life.” She turned quietly to Jean, who 
was nervously tapping her whip against her skirt. 
“ I ken ye’ll make Robert a good wife,” she said 
earnestly. “ So dinna let any thought o’ me sadden 
your heart, or — or yours, Robert.” She turned and 
looked at him tenderly. ‘‘ I — I forgive ye,” she 
whispered. Turning to Mrs. Burns again, she con- 
tinued pleadingly, “Ye must welcome Robert’s wife 
to her new hame. Mistress Burns. We all maun make 
this a merry hame-comin’ for — the — ^bride.” Her 
plaintive voice broke abruptly, and the burning tears 
welled up to her eyes, but she dashed them quickly 
away and continued bravely, a pathetic little smile 
hovering about her trembling lips, “ I’ll go out noo 
an’ make some fresh tea for ye, and ye’ll all stay 
right here, till I come back, an’ Donald shall play 
for ye again — an’ we’ll — all — ^be — sae merry — won’t 
w-we.f^ I’ll bring it w-when — it’s quite — ready.” 
She smiled at them through her tears. Then she took 
the teapot from the dresser and softly left the room. 

“ God bless her brave and noble heart,” breathed 
Robert brokenly. 

As she left the room Mrs. Burns drew herself 
sternly erect, and after a moment’s hesitation turned 
slowly to Jean. “ I bid ye welcome to Mossgiel 
Farm,” she said coldly. “ I am sorry I spoke so 


128 HIGHLAND MARY 


bitterly to ye just noo. I — I will try to love ye as 
Robert’s wife, but noo I — I can only think o’ Mary 
an’ her sorrow. I’ll leave ye for a bit ; Mary may need 
pie.” Her voice faltered and broke, and with a sob 
of grief she hurriedly left the room. 


CHAPTER XI 


Ever since the morning she had received her mar- 
riage lines Jean had been trying to summon up 
sufficient courage to tell her father the whole truth 
about her secret marriage to Robert, to throw her- 
self upon his mercy, but each time when she had 
approached him in fear and trembling, her courage 
had ignominiously failed her. She knew only too 
well her father’s irascible temper and uncertain 
moods. And so days passed into weeks and still 
she procrastinated, but she knew she could not con- 
ceal from his observing eyes her condition much 
longer. But whether to confess all and run the 
risk of being thrown from her father’s door like 
some abandoned outcast, or to contrive some excuse 
to leave home to pay a visit to some friend, and 
then, when it was all over, to return, that was the 
question which disturbed her waking thoughts. If 
she did the latter, she thought, she could easily have 
her marriage annulled and no one would be the wiser. 
But did she really want to have her marriage annulled 
she asked herself thoughtfully. She didn’t under- 
stand herself at all these days. He had strangely 
stirred her heart at their last meeting, to its very 
depths. She knew he did not love her, that he 
129 


130 HIGHLAND MARY 

loved the little dairymaid, but almost imperceptibly 
a great change was taking place in her feelings to- 
ward him. At times a great longing came over her 
to go to him, throw herself at his feet and beg to 
share his hardships, his poverty, with him. But she 
had not the courage, and so she battled with the con- 
flicting emotions that constantly beset her day and 
night. Her temper soon became moody and uncer- 
tain, she was in constant fear of her mother’s anxious, 
watchful eyes, and yet she felt she would go daft if 
she remained alone in her chamber with her disturbing 
thoughts. So day after day she could be found in 
her saddle madly galloping over the country, trying 
to get away, far away, from her trouble. But all in 
vain; it was always before her; there was no escaping 
it. But at last the day came when she knew* she 
must make her decision, and almost in desperation 
she decided on her course of procedure. Hastily 
galloping home, she left her horse at the door, and 
going to her room, scribbled a short note to her father 
and left it on the table in his study. Then she had 
slipped guiltily past the room where her mother sat 
peacefully sewing, and sped swiftly along the hall to 
the door. As she reached it, it burst inward and she 
staggered back half fainting, for there on the thresh- 
old stood her father, his face white with rage, his 
jaw set and determined. He seized her roughly by 
the arm, and thrusting her back into the house, had 
taken one understanding look at her figure in its 


HIGHLAND MARY 131 

tight-fitting habit, then with an outburst of bitter 
anger and shame he cursed her and the author 
of her disgrace, cursed her like a madman, cursed 
her till he was spent with the force of his passion. 
She tried to explain, to tell him the truth, that she 
was a wife, but the words froze on her lips. His 
words and manner struck terror to her very soul; 
she feared for her very life’s safety. With all her 
despairing strength she freed herself from his 
clutch and stood cowering, panting, her hands raised 
to shield herself from the blow she expected every 
moment to fall on her defenseless body from the 
insane man. As he approached her with hand up- 
raised, she gave one quick shriek, one wild look 
around and darting under his arm reached the door. 
Quickly she opened it and sped like a swallow to the 
side of her waiting horse. With one bound she was 
on his back, and away she galloped like the wind, 
leaving her astonished father standing in the door* 
way shaking his fist after her in impotent anger. 

She had given rein to her horse, not heeding or 
caring where he took her. Her one and only thought 
was to get away, far away; so she rode on and 
on, over brook and brush, through bog and mire 
till gradually her fear had subsided, and, reining 
in her horse, she looked around, and with a thrill 
of joy and wonder she saw Mossgiel Farm in the 
distance. Surely fate had guided her horse’s foot- 
steps in this direction, she thought eagerly. Her 


132 HIGHLAND MARY 

course was clear now, she would go to him, to her 
husband, he would protect her. So she had continued 
her journey to the cottage, where she brought naught 
but misery and sorrow to its inmates. 

As Mrs. Burns left the room Jean gazed after her 
in bitter silence. She wished she had not come. She 
knew she was not welcome. Far better to have faced 
her father’s anger. But the die is cast. I have 
made my bed,” she told herself wearily. She realized 
how futile it was to repine over the past, and she felt 
too exhausted, too miserably unhappy to think of the 
future. She would stay here perhaps a night, then 
9he didn’t know, couldn’t think what would happen. 
At all events she could never return to her father’s 
home now. He had spurned her from him, and she 
was not wanted here. Nobody wanted her now. Her 
lips quivered convulsively and big tears of self-pity 
rolled quietly down her pale cheeks. 

Gilbert looked uneasily from his brother’s grief- 
stricken face to the weary, wan face of the bride. 
How long were they going to sit there side by side 
without a word to each other he thought uneasily. 
He felt a great wave of pity well up in his heart for 
the unwelcome, unloved addition to their family. 
True she was mostly to blame for her present mis- 
fortune. Her imprudence, her misconduct had been 
well known to many, before his brother had gone to 
Mauchline to live. He felt sorry for Robert, too, 
even while he bitterly reproached him for being the 


HIGHLAND MARY 133 

author of Mary’s unhappiness. They must make the 
best of things now, he thought philosophically. ‘‘Ye 
had better take off your bonnet, lassie,” he said 
kindly, breaking the oppressive silence. “ Ye’ll be 
staying here the night.” She raised her head and 
looked at him with flashing eyes. 

“ Full well I know that all here hate and despise 
me,” she burst forth bitterly, not heeding his request. 

Robert slowly raised his head and looked at her. 
There was sorrow and compassion in his dark melan- 
choly eyes. “ Jean,” he said quietly, “ our lives 
have been linked togither by a stern, inexorable fate. 
We have both been guilty of a grievous sin, and noo 
we must face the results bravely.” He rose and 
walked to her and stood humbly by her side. “ I 
hope ye’ll forgive me, Jean, for wreckin’ your life 
and plungin’ ye into sae much misery.” 

Slowly Jean bowed her head, her face flushing 
guiltily. Surely she had the more need to ask his 
forgiveness. She had not expected to find such no- 
bility of character, and it moved her deeply. 

“ There is naught to forgive,” she cried in a low 
stifled voice. “ I alone am to blame. I am unfit, 
unworthy to be your wife. Oh, I’m so miserable, so 
unhappy,” and she burst into tears. 

Souter led old Donald silently out of the room. 
There was nothing either one could say to the 
wretched couple, so they sat outside and talked it 
all over in the way old men have. They had not 


134 HIGHLAND MARY 

been seated long, however, when they espied coming 
toward them, at a furious gallop, a horse and rider. 
As they drew near Souter perceived with sudden 
apprehension that it was none other than Squire 
Armour. He rose anxiously to his feet. 

“ Do ye ken wha’ it is, Souter.? ” inquired Donald 
in a quavering voice. 

‘‘ It’s Squire Armour himsel’,” whispered Souter 
cautiously. 

‘‘ Ma certie!” ejaculated Donald, shaking his 
white locks in mild alarm. 

“ I’d better warn the lass,” said Souter hastily, 
as the Squire drew up to the gate. Going to the 
door he quickly told them of the newcomer, then 
turned to intercept the irate visitor, who was coming 
swiftly up the walk. 

‘‘Heavens, my father here!” cried Jean in a 
frightened whisper. “ Oh, I dare not face his wrath. 
Protect me, Robert,” and she clung to him fearfully. 

“ Out o’ my way, mon ! ” they heard the harsh 
voice of Squire Armour shouting. “ Out o’ my 
way,” and pushing aside the courageous little man he 
strode wrathfully into the room. 

“ Weel, I’ll stay and see the fun through,” said 
Souter to himself grimly. 

“ So, my lass,” cried the old Squire triumphantly, 
“ I’ve found ye just where I expected ye’d be, in the 
arms o’ your dissolute lover. Come awa’, ye shameless 
bairn.” 


HIGHLAND MARY 135 

He started toward her, but Robert passed 
her quickly behind him. 

Keep back, Squire Armour,” he said firmly. 

I’m nae a mild-mannered man, an’ ye may learn it 
to your cost.” 

Squire Armour glanced at him savagely. “ Dinna 
ye dare talk to me, ye libertine, ye blasphemous 
rhymster. Ye dare to stand there wi’ my daughter, 
proclaiming her dishonor to my very eyes ? ” 

There is no dishonor. Squire Armour,” replied 
Robert calmly, “ for your daughter is — my wife.” 

‘‘Your wife!” echoed the old man, staggering 
back in amazement. “ I’ll nae believe it. It’s a lie. 
I’d rather see my daughter disgraced forever than be 
your wife.” 

“ Father, are you mad.? ” gasped Jean in horrified 
accents. 

“ An’ ye an Elder in the Kirk, a so-called ‘ God- 
fearin’ man ’ ! ” cried Robert scathingly, his eyes 
blazing with scorn. “ I tell ye. Squire Armour, she 
is my wife, an’ all your bitter, unreasoning hatred 
o’ me canna’ alter that unhappy fact.” 

For a moment the old man stood gazing at them 
in helpless rage. Then he turned to Jean, his voice 
trembling with suppressed emotion, “ What proofs 
have ye.? ” he asked hoarsely. 

“ I have my marriage lines, father,” she an- 
swered quickly. 

“ Where were ye married.? ” 


136 HIGHLAND MARY 

/ 

‘‘ Why, father, we ” began Jean hesitatingly. 

“Was it in the Kirk.?’ ” he interrupted sternly. 

“ No,” she faltered. “ It was ” 

“Not in the Kirk.?’” he cried, his voice rising 
menacingly. “ Who was the minister ? Who married 
ye.? ” 

“ There was no minister, father.” 

“ Nae minister! ” he exclaimed in horror. 

“Wait, father, you don’t understand,” cried Jean 
quickly ; “ ’twas a Scotch marriage ; ye ken what that 
is — and,” she bowed her head guiltily, “ why it is. 
And here are my lines signed by Robert acknowledg- 
ing me as his wife.” She took from the bosom of her 
gown a folded paper which she handed to her father. 

He read it through carefully. “ This is na legal 
or binding,” he exclaimed angrily. 

“ ’Tis perfectly legal. Squire Armour,” replied 
Robert calmly, “ even if it is irregular, and is as bind- 
ing as though we were married in Kirk.” 

“ It shall be set aside,” fumed the old man. “ I 
will not have it so. Ye shall both renounce it, I 
tell ye.” 

“ Oh, father,” cried Jean tearfully, going to his 
side. “ ’Tis too late now ; would you shame me in 
the eyes of the world? ” 

“ Do these few written lines make your shame 
any the less?” he shouted wrathfully. “Will not 
aU the neighbors know why he had to give them to 
ye? Ye would throw awa’ your life on this poverty- 


HIGHLAND MARY 137 

stricken, shiftless rhymster, but ye shall not do it; 
ye must give him up, do ye hear?” and he raised 
his arm menacingly. 

No, no, no, father,” she exclaimed frantically, 
falling on her knees beside him ; “ I cannot give 

him up now, I cannot.” After all the weary weeks 
of anxious fears and doubts she knew at last that 
she had found her heart, and now asked no greater 
happiness than to be allowed to remain with her hus- 
band to share his humble life, to be the mother of his 
family. All the old ambitious thoughts were gone 
forever. She wondered that they ever existed. 

‘‘Ye shameless bairn, ye must an’ shall!” he re- 
plied fiercely. “ This is the end o’ it all,” and he 
vindictively tore into httle bits the paper Jean had 
given into his hands. “ We’ll hear nae mair of that, 
my lass, an’ I swear ye shall never see Robert Burns 
again, make up your mind to that.” 

With a cry of despair Jean sank half fainting 
into a chair. 

As he witnessed Squire Armour’s fiendish act 
Robert’s heart gave a great bound that sent the 
blood coursing madly through his veins. The mar- 
riage lines were destroyed; then he was free, free! 
Oh, the music in that word! Free to do as he 
wished. A sob of anguish caused him to look around 
at the kneeling figure of the unfortunate girl. 
Quickly the eager light died out of his face as he 
noted her suffering. Going to the kneeling girl he 


^138 HIGHLAND MARY 

raised her gently to her feet, and holding her by the 
hand faced the inhuman father. “ Squire Armour, 
ye would condemn your ain flesh an’ blood to shame 
an’ disgrace because o’ your hatred for me,” he said 
quietly, “ but it shall not be. I defy ye. Come, 
Jean, we will go to the Kirk at once and Daddy Auld 
will marry us.” They turned to go, but the old man 
stepped between them and the door, his arms up- 
raised, his eyes wild and glaring. 

“ I’d sooner see her in her grave than bear the 
accursed name of Robert Burns,” he cried with 
solemn intensity. “ Great though her imprudence 
has been, she can still look to a higher, an’ better 
connection than a marriage with ye.” Turning to 
Jean he continued sternly, “ Speak, lass, say that 
ye’ll obey me, or the bitter curse o’ your par- 
ents will haunt an’ follow ye all the rest o’ your 
days.” 

‘‘ Think of the disgrace, father,” wailed the un- 
happy girl, clinging to his arm beseechingly. 

“ We’ll forget and forgive it all if ye’ll come 
back,” he replied, the great love for his child reveal- 
ing itself in his eager tones. “ Ye’re nae longer that 
man’s wife. Come an’ none will ever know o’ your 
dishonor.” 

“ My God, mon ! ” exclaimed Robert in horrifled 
accents, “where is your father’s pride, your ain 
honor, your manhood ! ” 

But Squire Armour heeded him not. “ Come, my 


HIGHLAND MARY 139 

daughter, come,” he said tenderly, leading the weak, 
wavering girl to the door. 

“ Ye canna expect to keep this a secret from the 
world. Squire Armour,” cried Robert indignantly. 
“Matters have gone too far for that; soon your 
daughter’s name will be blasted irretrievably, while 
mine will be coupled with that of blackguard. It 
must not be. Ye must let Jean go to the Kirk wi’ 
me this very night or I shall inform the Elders in the 
Kirk.” 

“ Ye’ll have no time to turn informer, my laddie,” 
snarled Squire Armour, turning on him fiercely ; 
“for I mean to have ye brought before the Kirk 
sessions, an’ ye’ll be punished as ye deserve for the sin 
ye have committed, an’ ye shall sit on the cutty 
stool, where all your friends an’ neighbors can jeer 
an’ scoff at ye. This very night will I send the 
parish officers after ye, Robert Burns. Ye can take 
this warning or no, just as ye please, but I hope they 
find ye here. Come, lass, we’ll go hame to your 
mither, noo.” He drew the terrified, half-fainting 
girl firmly through the door and down the path to the 
road. 

“Ye’re an old hypocrite!” hooted Souter, follow- 
ing them to the gate, where he stood shaking his fist 
angrily after the departing visitors, and shouting his 
frank opinion of the Squire in no mild or flattering 
terms. 

“ I alone am to blame,” cried Robert despairingly. 


(140 HIGHLAND MARY 

as he watched them gallop madly away into the 
threatening night. “ An’ only the bitterest sorrow, 
the most poignant grief will I know until that wrong 
is righted.” 

“ What will ye do noo, lad.^ ” asked Mrs. Burns, 
breaking in upon the melancholy sadness which en- 
veloped him like a pall. (She had entered the room 
in time to hear Squire Armour’s parting injunction.) 
‘‘Ye heard what the Squire threatened. Oh, dinna 
disdain the littleness of prudence, my son.” 

“ I willna, mother,” replied Robert dully, after a 
pause. “ I have decided to go awa’ from Mossgiel.” 

“ Go awa’.? ” she repeated fearfully. “ Nay, nay, 
laddie, ye mustna! I fear for ye in your present 
state o’ mind.” 

“ I must, mother,” he answered wildly. “ I willna 
sit on the cutty stool to be made the laughing stock 
o’ the whole neighborhood, to bring shame on ye 
all.” He walked restlessly up and down the room 
as he continued feverishly, “ I willna stay here to 
skulk from covert to covert under all the terrors 
of a jail, for I ken that in a little while the merci- 
less pack of the law will be baying at my heels 
like bloodhounds.” He turned to her suddenly, 
“ Mother, I mean to leave Scotland, perhaps for- 
ever.” 

“ Oh, nay, nay, my bairn ; I canna, I willna, let ye 
go,” answered his mother, clinging to him passion- 
ately. 


HIGHLAND MARY 141 

‘‘ There, there, mither, dinna make it harder for 
me.” He put his arm around her tenderly and pressed 
her to him for a moment. “ Noo, mother,” he said 
quietly, “ will ye pack my chest I have nae time to 
spare,” and he led her gently to the door. 

“ Where will ye be goin’ ? ” inquired Gilbert. 

“To the Indies, to Jamaica,” replied Robert 
quickly. “Ye ken Dr. Douglas has a place for me 
there as overseer of his plantation. He has offered 
it to me mony times.” He turned in nervous haste 
to his mother, who stood in the doorway anxiously 
watching him. “ Hurry, mither, please, I am in tor- 
ture o’ mind.” 

“ Very well, laddie,” she answered sorrowfully, 
“ God will direct your footsteps aright,” and she 
closed the door behind her and quickly made her way 
to his chamber. 

“ Will ye see Mary before ye go, Robert.? ” asked 
Gilbert. 

He felt an infinite pity for his brother, who was 
leaving behind him everything he held dear. 

“ If she will come to me,” faltered Robert. “ Tell 
her I’m goin’ an’ that I will go wi’ a lighter heart 
if she bids me godspeed. Watch o’er an’ protect 
her, Gilbert,” he continued, placing his hand on his 
brother’s shoulder. “An’ I hope one day she may 
forget faithless Robert Burns, an’ — an’ ye, Gil- 
bert, will be made happy.” He turned away as he 
finished, grief gnawing at his heart. 


,142 HIGHLAND MARY 

An eager light flashed in Gilbert’s eyes as he an- 
swered fervently, “ I would lay doon my life to serve 
her,” and with a quick look into the averted face he 
quietly left the room. 

Mechanically Rob took his bonnet from the peg 
and throwing his long plaid around him went out into 
the air, and silently, sorrowfully he stood there 
watching the gloomy clouds that hung low in the 
heavens through eyes misty with tears. His soul 
was filled with unutterable sorrow at the coming 
parting, with dread of the unknown future to be 
passed alone in a strange, inhospitable foreign land. 
Oh, the agony of that thought, alone! Suddenly 
there came floating softly, peacefully, borne on the 
back of the south wind, which was blowing gently 
against his face, the alluring, seductive voice of the 
Goddess Muse. Insistently she urged her way into 
the dulled and listless ear of the grief-stricken man. 
Not for long was she denied admission, however. 
With a cry of joy, that even in that dreaded hour of 
parting his Goddess had not deserted him, he eagerly 
opened the book he held in his hand, his favorite book, 
“ Tristam Shandy ” by Sterne, and wrote quickly, 
lovingly on the flyleaf the impassioned words which 
were being whispered in his ear. Hungrily the pen- 
cil sped over the paper, till, with a sigh of regret, 
he dropped his hand, the voice was hushed, the mes- 
sage was finished. As he stood there eagerly read- 
ing his verses by the light which streamed through 


HIGHLAND MARY 143 

the window, the door softly opened and Mary came 
swiftly to his side, her pure face pitiful in its child- 
like sorrow. 

“ Is it true ye are gang awa’ frae Scotland, Rob- 
bie ? ” she asked breathlessly. He bowed his head. 
“ Oh, my heart beats heavy for ye, laddie.” There 
was infinite compassion in her voice. “ But ye maun 
be brave noo if ever ye were.” She nestled her little 
hand in his. He clasped it fervently. 

O, Mary, my Highland lassie ! ” he cried passion- 
ately, “I want to hear ye say before I go that ye 
forgive me for the sorrow I have brought into your 
pure young life.” 

Hush, laddie,” she answered softly, there is 
naught to forgive; ye had to do your duty like 
an honorable mon. I hae been very happy wi’ 
ye, laddie, an’ the memory o’ that happiness will 
be wi’ me always.” She leaned against him for a 
brief moment, then slowly drew herself away and 
looked tenderly up into his face. ‘‘ In this sad part- 
ing hour,” she faltered, “ I can tell ye without shame 
that I love ye wi’ a’ my being, an’ will until I 
dee.” 

“ Heaven bless ye, Mary,” he whispered brokenly. 
“ The thought of your love will gie me courage to 
bear my exile bravely.” 

“ Exile ! ” she repeated shuddering. ‘‘ Oh, what a 
drear word, to think ye must be exiled in your noble 
youth, that ye maun leave your hame, your country. 


144 HIGHLAND MARY 


to live alone in some foreign clime.” The tears 
streamed down her pallid cheeks. ‘‘We will a’ miss 
ye sair, lad,” she continued bravely, “ and we will 
pray for ye, an’ — an’ — oh, ’twill be sae hard to say 
good-by, perhaps forever.” She threw her arms 
about his neck and clung to him passionately. 

He held the weeping child in his strong, loving 
embrace, his face close to hers. “ Oh, why was I 
bom, only to bring sorrow, pain an’ disgrace to 
those I hold dear ? ” he cried in an agony of grief 
and remorse. “ Bitterly am I atonin’ for my act 
o’ imprudence; an exile, a failure,” he gave a mirth- 
less little laugh; “ aye, a failure, for e’en the hopes 
of success held out to me have a’ vanished in dis- 
appointment. Oblivion has enveloped me in its dark- 
ening pall, for whichever way I turn naught but 
darkest gloom, with not e’en a ray of light, meets 
my wretched gaze.” A flash of lightning pierced 
the darkness, followed shortly by a heavy, pro- 
longed roll of thunder. She nestled closer to his 
side. 

“ Be not discouraged, laddie,” she said ; “ ’tis al- 
ways darkest before dawn, an’ who kens what may 
yet happen ? ” 

“ Ah, nae, nae,” he interrupted with a despairing 
shake of his head, “ e’en the elements conspire against 
me, for I maun face this coming storm on foot to 
reach Greenock. ’Tis all a part of my just punish- 
ment.” The wind had risen and with it a driving mist 


HIGHLAND MARY 145 

which soon enveloped them in its damp embrace. But 
they heeded it not. 

Bide a wee, dinna go to-night,” she pleaded, 
while the wind tossed her tangled curls seductively 
around his neck and in his sorrowing face. “ Listen 
to the wind. Oh, ’tis a bad night to start on a jour- 
ney,” and she clung to him tighter, her skirts flap- 
ping about his limbs like some live thing, thrilling 
him by their touch. 

“ Before ye came out, lassie,” he replied quietly, 
stilling the tumult in his heart, ‘‘ I wrote some verses 
in this book as a parting song ; how appropriate they 
are for this occasion ye will see. Listen,” and hold- 
ing the book up to the light he began to read: 

“The gloomy night is gathering fast, 

Loud roars the wild inconstant blast; 

Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, 

I see it driving o’er the plain; 

Chill runs my blood to hear it rave, 

I think upon the stormy wave, 

Where many a danger I must dare. 

Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr; 

*Tis not the surging billows’ roar, 

’Tis not that fatal deadly shore, 

Tho’ death in every shape appear. 

The wretched have no more to fear; 

But round my heart the ties are bound. 

That heart transpierced with many a wound; 

These bleed afresh, these ties I tear. 

To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr.” 


The wind had risen rapidly and the old beech tree 


( 146 HIGHLAND MARY 

was shrieking and groaning overhead as its branches 
strove like maniac arms with the tempest. The Ayr 
could be plainly heard roaring its diapason on its 
rocky banks in the darkness below, while the thunder 
crashed overhead and the luried glare of lightning 
ever and again lit up the yard. 

Unheeding its warning he continued, his melan- 
choly sonorous voice, with its mournful cadences, 
floating out with passionate longing, filling his lis- 
tener with unutterable sadness : 

“ Farewell, old Coila’s hills and dales, 

Her heathy moors and winding vales; 

The scenes where wretched fancy roves, 

Pursuing past unhappy loves. 

Farewell my friends, farewell my foes. 

My peace with thee, my love with those; 

The bursting tears my heart declare. 

Farewell the bonnie banks of Ayr.” 

As his voice died away he heard the sound of 
sobbing, and looked up, to see his mother standing in 
the doorway. 

Come awa’, lad, come in out of the night air ! ” 
she called tenderly, controlling her sobs. 

Silently they entered the cottage. Robert crossed 
the room to his brother’s side. 

“ Gilbert,” he said quietly, ‘‘ ye take the songs an’ 
verses ye will find on my table an’ send them to Mr. 
Aiken. Mayhap they will bring you in a bit o’ money 
to help ye in your struggle wi’ poverty, an’ forgive 


HIGHLAND MARY 147 

me that I maun leave ye to battle wi’ misfortune 
alone.” Turning to Mary he continued, lovingly, 
“ Mary, lass, will ye accept my Bible as a parting 
gift.? ” She looked at him with shining eyes. “ Ye’ll 
find it in the oak box with the glass lid in the attic.” 

“ I’ll prize it for aye, Robert,” she sobbed grate- 
fully, pressing his hand, “ an’ our prayers will fol- 
low ye to that far distant land, where I hope 
success awaits ye.” 

He drew her to him gently and pressed a kiss on 
her pure brow. ‘‘ Farewell, lassie, may ye be happy,” 
he breathed fervently. Turning again to Gilbert 
he spoke rapidly, “ Farewell, brother, give my love 
to the dear brothers an’ sisters when they come hame.” 
He shook his hand warmly. 

God keep ye, Robert,” answered Gilbert quietly. 

Gently Robert drew his weeping mother into his 
arms. Tenderly he pulled down the apron which 
she had flung over her head to hide her sorrow, and 
wiped away her tears, “ Noo, mother,” he whis- 
pered brokenly, “ I — I maun say good-by ; the day 
has drawn to its close an’ I maun start on my jour- 
ney to Greenock. Dinna greet, dear mither.” He let 
her weep on unconstrainedly a few moments. 

Finally her bitter sobbing ceased and looking up 
into his face she cried passionately, ‘‘ I canna give 
ye up, my son, never to see ye again.” She took 
his cheeks lovingly between her hands. 

“ Ye’re making it hard for me to go, mither,” 


148 HIGHLAND MARY 

he cried, utterly distracted. ‘‘ But the die is cast, 
my hands are on the plow, an’ I canna turn back 
noo. Ye ken there is naught but disappointment 

an’ disgrace to look forward to here, an’ ” 

Suddenly a loud cheer from outside the cottage 
interrupted him. They listened in silent wonder. 
Above the noise of the wind, which had risen to a 
gale, and the swish of the rain, which now beat in 
swirling gusts about the cottage, came the voices of 
Souter and Donald shouting and cheering like boys 
on a frolic. Quickly they opened the door. A gust 
of wind dashed the rain fiercely in their faces. 
Through the mist and gloom they could vaguely make 
out the outlines of a coach standing at the gate, 
which had approached unheard in the storm. 

“ Robert, Robert ! ” cried Souter, looming up out 
of the darkness and looking decidedly weather- 
beaten. “ ’Tis news I have, great and glorious 
news.” 

“ News.f’ ” they all repeated in wonder. 

“ What is it, mon ? ” asked Rob, trembling with 
excitement. 

“ It can speak for itsel’,” replied Souter gleefully, 
“ for here it is.” He pointed behind him. They 
looked down the path and saw rapidly approaching 
the door a tall man, enveloped in a long cloak, 
escorted by a servant in livery. At that moment the 
light fell on his wet face and they started forward in 
amazement. 


HIGHLAND MARY 149 

‘‘ Lord Glencairn ? ” cried Robert incredulously, 
his heart throbbing with a strange new-born hope. 

“ Aye, my lad, and near drowned,” laughed the 
visitor genially. Robert grasped his outstretched 
hand and drew him to the door. 

With words of welcome and delight they made 
room for him to enter. Quickly he removed his wet 
cloak from his shoulders and threw it to his servant, 
who hung it beside the fire, while descanting on the 
inclemency of the weather. Nervously and anxiously 
they waited for the great man to speak his errand. 

Presently he turned from the fireplace, and, ad- 
dressing Robert, he said brightly, “ Well, Mr. Burns, 
you see I have not forgotten you.” 

Oh, my lord,” faltered Robert, his face white 
with suppressed feeling, “ I — I had despaired of 
seein’ you mair; do ye — bring me — hope.f^ Is it — 

am I ” his faltering voice stopped abruptly, but 

his eager eyes continued to search the noble face 
which was looking so kindly into his, as if he would 
draw the news from him. 

“ It is good news,” answered Lord Glencairn, 
smiling brightly, “ and you are famous ; yes, my 
lad, your poems are at last published and already 
have become the rage in Edinburgh; the name of 
Robert Bums is on the tongue of all, high and low, 
prince and peasant.” 

“ Thank God,” cried Mary softly, a look of 
rapture on her face. 


1 


150 HIGHLAND MARY 


Mrs. Burns turned excitedly to her son, her hands 
clasped nervously. “ Oh, laddie, laddie, ye’re a great 
mon, noo ! ” she exclaimed proudly. 

For a moment Robert stood there speechless, a 
look of incredulous wonder on his face. ‘‘ My 
lord,” he faltered at last, “ can it be true, what 
you’re telling me, that my songs are — accepted, read 
an’ — praised in Edinburgh.?” Lord Glencaim 
bowed. ‘‘ Oh, sir,” he continued, with a nervous 
catch in his voice, “ it seems too good to be true, too 
good.” 

Gradually the warm color came back to the pale 
face, the hurried breathing, which seemed almost to 
smother him, became calmer, the nervous, excited 
tension relaxed, and, with a smile of rapture and 
content on his upturned face, he exclaimed fervently, 
“ At last my hopes and ambitions are realized, the 
bright sunhght of success has crowned my efforts; 
my verses are known an’ loved in Edinburgh! Oh, 
do ye hear that, my loved ones ? ” He stretched 
out his arms lovingly to them. ‘‘ Nae mair poverty 
for us noo, mither, nae — nor disappointments.” 
He turned to Lord Glencaim, who was being assisted 
into his cloak, “ Oh, sir, I canna tell ye what is in 
my heart,” he continued earnestly, “ but ’tis over- 
flowing wi’ love an’ gratitude to ye.” 

“ There, there, my lad, time is precious,” replied 
Lord Glencaim kindly, buttoning up his cloak. 
“ ’Tis late and we have far to go and the postchaise 


HIGHLAND MARY 151 

is awaiting us. I came here not only to bring you 
news, Mr. Burns, but to take you back with me to 
Edinburgh.” He laughed heartily at the look of 
startled amazement that appeared on the faces be- 
fore him. 

“To Edinburgh!” gasped Robert unbelievingly. 

“ Aye, lad,” replied his lordship earnestly, his 
eyes flashing with admiration for the modest young 
genius. “ To Edinburgh, where fame and fortune 
await you, where society stands with outstretched 
arms to receive you as a conquering hero come to 
claim his own. To the capital city, where all unite 
in paying homage to the wonderful genius of Robert 
Bums, our Scottish Bard. Will you come.?^ ” and 
he held out his hand invitingly to the wondering lad, 
who was gazing at him, his soul in his eyes. 

“ Am I dreaming? ” he cried slowly, looking about 
him for some confirmation of his fears. “ Go to 
Edinburgh wi’ ye, sir, as the Bard of Scotland? 
O God, can this be true? My wildest hopes ne’er 
held out such dreams o’ greatness, such happiness.” 
His voice vibrated with feeling. He paused and took 
a deep breath, then he continued joyfully, all the sor- 
rows of the past forgotten in his excitement, “ A few 
moments ago, my lord, I was bidding farewell to 
these, my loved ones, forever. I was about to start 
for the Indies, a wretched exile, a disappointed fail- 
ure, and noo fate once mair alters my destiny.” 
With a glad laugh he seized Lord Glencaira’s out- 


152 HIGHLAND MARY 


stretched hand, and, turning to his loved ones, he 
cried, his voice ringing out clear and strong, a 
conscious thrill of pride running through it, “ Nae 
more tears, mither, except those of happiness, nae 
more sorrow or care, for I can leave ye all wi’ a light 
heart noo, wi’ joy instead o’ sadness. ’Tis true 
I go from here an outcast, but I’ll return to ye 
a hero.” 


BOOK II 


CHAPTER XII 

The scene that opened on our hero in Edinburgh 
was altogether new, and in a variety of other re- 
spects highly interesting, especially to one of his 
disposition of mind. To use an expression of his 
own, he “ found himself suddenly translated from 
the veriest shades of life,” into the presence, and 
indeed into the society, of a number of persons 
previously known to him by report as of the highest 
distinction in his country. From those men of let- 
ters in general his reception was particularly flat- 
tering. And they interested themselves collectively 
and individually in the cultivation of his genius. 

In Edinburgh literature and fashionable society 
are a good deal mixed. Our Bard was an acceptable 
guest in the gayest and most elevated circles, and re- 
ceived from female beauty and elegance those flat- 
tering attentions above all others most grateful to 
him. A taste for letters is not always conjoined 
with habits of temperance and regularity, and Edin- 
burgh at this period contained perhaps an uncom- 
mon proportion of men of considerable talents, de- 
voted to social excesses, in which their talents were 
wasted and debased. 


163 


154 HIGHLAND MARY 


Robert entered into several parties of this de- 
scription with his usual vehemence. His generous 
affections, his ardent eloquence, his brilliant and dar- 
ing imagination fitted him to be the idol of such 
associations. The sudden alteration of his habits 
of life operated on him physically as well as mor- 
ally. The humble fare of the Ayrshire peasant he had 
exchanged for the luxuries of the Scottish metrop- 
olis, and naturally the effect of this change could not 
be inconsiderable. He saw the danger, and at times 
formed resolutions to guard against it, but he had em- 
barked on the tide of dissipation and was borne along 
its stream. Some six months after his triumphant en- 
trance into the city he had returned to Mossgiel for 
a fleeting visit to his home, and to assist his brother, 
who had taken upon himself the entire support of 
their aged mother, and who was struggling with 
many difficulties on the farm of Mossgiel. It will 
easily be conceived with what pleasure and pride 
he was received by his mother, his sisters, and broth- 
ers. He had left them poor and friendless; he 
returned to them high in public estimation and easy 
circumstances. He returned to them unchanged in 
his ardent affections, and ready to share with them 
to the uttermost farthing the pittance that fortune 
had bestowed. He had been keenly disappointed 
not to find Mary there. He learned, to his sorrow, 
that she had gone back to the Highlands shortly 
after he left for Edinburgh. He felt that she was 


HIGHLAND MARY 155 

lost to him now forever, for, while his heart prompted 
him to hurry to her side, reason told him that the 
visit would but fill her cup of sorrow to the brim. 
For, believing as he did, that he was still bound to 
Jean in spite of the destruction of her marriage 
lines, he knew he would only have to part from her 
again, to leave her there with her sad thoughts, her 
loneliness, while he returned to the gay life, where 
it was so easy to forget or at least to still the voice 
of sorrow. Having remained with them a few days 
he proceeded again to Edinburgh, first stopping off 
at Mauchline to call at the home of Squire Armour, 
only to be met with curses and to be driven from 
the door by the stern, unyielding man. 

Robert returned to Edinburgh, his heart filled 
with bitterness and sorrow. For a while he brooded 
over his troubles, which threatened to plunge him 
into a state of extreme melancholy. But at last re- 
sentment and anger crowded out all other thoughts, 
and it was not long before he succeeded in drowning 
recollection in the midst of the society and dissipa- 
tion of the metropolis. 

A year passed by, during which time he had vainly 
tried to get word to Jean Armour. He had heard 
that she had given birth to twins, and the thought 
that they were without the protection of a father’s 
name filled him with grief and remorse. Time and 
again he had written her, only to have his letters re- 
turned unopened. Finally he had received a letter 


I 156 HIGHLAND MARY 


from her father, stating that “ the children were 
dead and that Jean had quite forgotten him, and 
was about to be joined in wedlock with a neighbor- 
ing rich farmer; that now he hoped Robert would 
leave him and his daughter in peace,” etc., etc. He 
laid down the letter with a thrill of joy stirring his 
blood. Free at last 1 He had done his duty as 
a man of honor, and now, after all the bitter heart- 
ache and the long separation, he was free to marry 
his little sweetheart. “ Oh, thank God ! ” he cried 
aloud, in an ecstasy of joy. “ Thank God, the 
miserable tangle in our lives will soon be straight- 
ened.” He had long entertained a desire to visit those 
parts of his native country which were so celebrated 
in the rural songs of Scotland, and he would now 
gratify that desire with Mary’s home as the ob- 
jective point. As soon as arrangements could be 
made he started for the Highlands on horseback, 
accompanied by a friend, one Will Nichol, and, 
his fame having preceded him, they were royally en- 
tertained on their journey through the country. 
Finally they arrived in Dornoch, where Mary was 
living quietly with her sister, and soon the long parted 
lovers were clasped in each other’s arms. Later that 
day he told her the glorious news of his release, his 
freedom from all ties, told her of his undying love, 
and swore that never again should they be parted in 
this life. And Mary with a prayer of thankfulness 
in her faithful heart, blushingly gave her willing con- 


HIGHLAND MARY 157 


sent to a speedy marriage. The next day they all 
returned by easy stages to Edinburgh. Mrs. Dun- 
lop, an old friend of Robert’s, took the country 
maiden under her protecting wing and gave her a 
home until the marriage could be solemnized, the date 
having been set one month from the time of their 
arrival. 


CHAPTER Xni 




John Andeeson, the proprietor of the “ Bull’s 
Head,” stood gazing wrathfully upon the scene of 
disorder which met his eyes as he opened the door 
of the sitting-room of his distinguished lodger’s 
apartments. It was early evening, and still that 
lodger remained in bed, although he had been called 
at different intervals throughout the day by the 
irate, though kind-hearted, landlord himself. “ Dear 
— dear — dear,” he muttered to himself, as he ar- 
ranged the furniture, ‘‘ I’ll just give Robbie a bit 
o’ my mind.” He went to the door of the sleeping 
apartment and looked in. “ Sleepin’ like a bairn,” 
he said softly, ‘‘ an’ — an’ wi’ his boots on. Ma 
certie!” He raised his hands in horror. “ Weel, 
I’m glad ye’re nae under the bed. Ah, weel, young 
blood must hae its course. I mind I was young my- 
sel’, an’ if I do say it I could drink mair whusky than 
any mon in the toon. Oh, those were happy days,” 
and he sang softly to himself, as he continued his work 
about the room: 

“We are na fou’ 

We’re nat that fou*, 

But just a droppie in our ee. 

The cock may craw, 

The day may daw’. 

An’ ay we’ll taste the barley bree,” 

158 


HIGHLAND MARY 159 

A knock on the door interrupted his song. 

“Weel, who is it.^^” he called impatiently. 

“ Open the door,” replied a female voice eagerly. 

‘‘ A lassie,” exclaimed J ohn in amazement. “ Oh, 
Robbie, ye devil.” He swung open the door and 
stood back to allow the gorgeously dressed lady to 
enter the room. Her dress of rich purple brocaded 
silk, cut in the extreme of fashion, rustled stiffly 
over the polished floor. Her head with its powdered 
wig was held haughtily erect as she surveyed the 
room with sparkling black eyes that nervously took 
in her surroundings, through the tiny holes in the 
black mask which concealed her face. 

“ I — I thought — isn’t Mr. Burns at home.'* ” she 
stammered uneasily. 

“ Weel, what may ye be wantin’ wi’ Mr. Burns?” 
asked John cautiously. He had been bothered to 
death with answering the questions of the silly 
women who flocked to the parlors of the inn in 
hopes of seeing their idol. 

The lady turned on him sharply. “ None of your 
business, my good man,” she retorted haughtily. 
“ How dare you question me, sirrah ? ” 

John was quite taken aback by the imperious tones, 
but he still had his suspicions. ‘‘Weel, I thought 
perhaps ye were one o’ the artless bonnie wenches 
who were here last night wi’ the lads makin’ merry 

till the wee sma’ hours. If ye are ” he paused 

significantly. 


, 160 HIGHLAND MARY 

She flashed him an angry look. “ Make your mind 
easy on that score, my good fellow,” she retorted icily. 
“ I have called to interview Mr. Bums on an im- 
portant matter. Is he at home ? ” 

“Aye; he is in there asleep,” replied John, point- 
ing to a door beside the large book cabinet, which 
nearly occupied one side of the room. 

“ Asleep ! ” she repeated incredulously. “ Lud, he 
retires uncommon early for a gallant,” and there 
was a note of disappointment in her deep contralto 
voice. 

“ Early is it? ” said John, with a knowing smile. 
“ Faith, he hasna been up this day.” 

“ What? ” she ejaculated in horror. “ Not all 
day? Then you must awaken him immediately. I 
must have speech with him at once,” and she spread 
her voluminous draperies over the wide lounge and 
calmly seated herself. “Do you hear?” she cried 
impatiently, as John made no move. 

“ I hae excellent bearin’, mum,” replied John 
carelessly, “ but I ken when I’m well off, an’ I hae 
nae desire to feel the toe o’ Robert’s boot.” 

“ A pest on your stubbornness, fool,” she cried 
angrily, springing to her feet. 

“ An’ I hae my doubts o’ a lass who comes to a 
mon’s lodgings at night,” continued John, resenting 
her impatience. “ It’s na respectable.” 

She looked him over insolently, then shrugged her 
shoulders. “ I protest, landlord,” she replied, in 


HIGHLAND MARY 161 

a mocking tone, “ I am quite respectable, even if 
I am here unchaperoned. But, Lud, I like not conven- 
tionalities, and this adventure suits my madcap spirit 
well.” She walked to the door of the sleeping cham- 
ber and was about to open it, when his voice arrested 
her. 

“ I ken it all the time,” he cried indignantly. 
‘‘ Ye’re a brazen hussy.” 

‘‘ Landlord ! ” she gasped in astonishment. 

An’ ye can leave my inn,” continued John, now 
thoroughly aroused. “We are respectable, if ye 
are na.” 

“Peace, fool!” she exclaimed furiously. “I am 

Lady Glen she stopped and bit her lips angrily 

at the indiscreet slip of her tongue. Suddenly a 
daring thought entered her mind. One glance at his 
face told her that he had not caught the name. To 
think was to act with my lady. Then she continued 
glibly, “ I am Lady Nancy Gordon, daughter of the 
Duke of Gordon, of Gordon Castle. It will be all 
over town in a day,” she thought with malicious 
satisfaction. 

John staggered back as though he had been shot. 

Ye Lady Nancy? ” he gasped in amazement. “ Oh, 
my lady, I ask your pardon.” 

“ ’Tis not easily granted, numskull,” replied the 
imperious beauty, her black eyes flashing danger- 
ously. The sound of a carriage rolling over the 
cobble stones suddenly arrested her attention. For 


162 HIGHLAND MARY 


a moment she listened intently, then, with a startled 
exclamation, she turned to John and said in a fright- 
ened whisper, ’Fore heaven ! if it should be my hus- 
band — my father, I mean, in pursuit of me.” She 
ran hastily to the window from where a view of the 
street could be obtained and threw open the case- 
ment. 

“ It would serve ye right, my lady,” said John 
to himself. 

“ Great heavens ! ’tis my uncle. Sir William 
Creech ! ” she gasped. Then she said aloud, “ Land- 
lord, ’tis my father, as I feared! Oons I what a scrape 
I’m in.” She closed the shutter hastily. 

“ ’Twill ruin your reputation to be found here 
at night, my lady,” cried John concernedly, trotting 
nervously to the window. 

“ O Lud,” she replied airily, “ I’m not concerned 
over my reputation, ’tis already torn to ribbons by 
my dear friends. ’Tis my — my father’s wrath I 
fear. He is like to do some mischief.” An imperious 
knocking sounded on the door below. 

“ He has found ye, lassie,” cried old John ex- 
citedly. “ Go down to him ; dinna let him find ye 
here in Robbie’s chamber. Ye ken the blame will 
all fall on the lad,” and he sought to escort her to 
the door, but she evaded his outstretched hand with 
laughing unconcern. 

“ Nay, nay, my good fellow. I protest, I will not 
see him,” she exclaimed, with reckless abandon. 


HIGHLAND MARY 163 

She would keep up the impersonation till the end. 
Another such chance to blast her enemy’s reputation 
would not come to her in a lifetime, she thought 
wickedly. “ Listen,” she cried impetuously. “ My 
father, the Duke of Gordon, while he admires the 
poetry of Mr. Bums, does not admire the man him- 
self, consequently he did not send him an invitation 
to attend the masked ball which is given at Gordon 
Castle to-night,” she explained glibly. ‘‘ ’Twas a 
monstrous insult to the Bard of Scotland, and I told 
my father so, and that I would not countenance it. 
Then I stole away, as I thought, unobserved, and came 
here to induce Mr. Bums to return with me. Once 
inside the castle my father will be forced to receive 
him graciously. Now, hurry, landlord, tell him to 
dress and we’ll slip out quietly, and, with your con- 
nivance, elude my — father’s vigilance.” She watched 
him narrowly to note the effect of her story. 

My lady,” replied John proudly, “ the lad goes 
to Athol Castle to-night, so ye had better gang hame 
wi’ your father.” She gave a quick start of de- 
lighted satisfaction. So he was going after all. If 
she had only known that and felt sure of it, she might 
have spared herself this nerve-racking experiment, 
she thought impatiently. 

The pounding had kept up incessantly, and now 
a stern, commanding voice called out for the land- 
lord. 

‘‘He’s calling me,” said John nervously; “ye’d 


164 HIGHLAND MARY 

better go doon an’ explain a’ to him,” he told 
her pleadingly. 

“Landlord, where the devil are you?” They 
could hear the heavy tread of feet walking about 
the rooms below. 

“ He’s inside the house,” whispered John, wring- 
ing his hands. 

“O Lud, he seems most angry, doesn’t he?” she 
said in a subdued voice. She had suddenly grown 
tired of the deception, and was eager now to get 
away. “ I — I think perhaps ’twould be best if he — 
er — my father didn’t find me here after all,” she 
admitted. “ I — I really dare not face his anger.” 
She jumped up quickly, all her bravado vanished. 
“ Get me out of this place, landlord, quick, quick ! ” 
she gasped, clinging to him. Oh, why had she come? 
Sir William would make such a disagreeable scene 
if he found her here. 

“ Into that room wi’ ye ! ” cried J ohn quickly, 
pointing to a small door in the opposite side of 
the room ; “ an’ I’ll get your father out o’ the 
house.” 

“ Why couldn’t the old fossil have stayed at 
home? ” she said to her angrily. “ This promised 
to be such a romantic adventure, landlord,” she said 
aloud, poutingly. “ And now ’tis all spoiled. Plague 
take it. Hurry, landlord, and get my — father away, 
for I must return to the ball before my absence is 
noticed.” She went into the room, her heart filled 


HIGHLAND MARY 165 

with apprehension, and closed the door, which John 
promptly locked. 

“ Thank the Lord,” he muttered with a sigh of 
relief. I breathe easier.” Going to the door lead- 
ing to the hall, he listened for a moment. From 
below came the sound of clinking glasses. He closed 
the door quickly. The coast was clear now. His 
guidwife was waiting on the customer. He hurried 
across the room and was about to release his prisoner, 
when he heard the door of Robert’s chamber open. 
He turned quickly and found his lodger yawning in 
the doorway. 

“ Well, John Anderson, my Jo John,” said he 
lazily, “what’s all the row here, eh.?^ ” 

J ohn looked up guiltily. “ Are ye up, laddie ? ” 
he stammered. 

“ Nay, John, I’m walkin’ round in my bed,” re- 
torted Robert dryly. “ Dinna ye think it’s time for 
me to be up ? ” he asked. “ What’s the matter, mon ? 
stand still, ye make me dizzy.” 

John was uneasily walking up and down, casting 
surreptitious glances at the door of the room which 
held the fair captive. “Oh, Johnny, my Jo John,” 
laughed Robert as he caught sight of the old man’s 
lugubrious countenance, “ ye’ve been drinkin’ too 
much Usqubaugh.” 

“ Too much what, Robbie ” he asked nervously. 

“Usqubaugh. Dinna ken what that is? It’s 
whisky, whisky, whisky.” 


166 HIGHLAND MARY 


‘‘ Oh, I ken, laddie,” replied J ohn, smiling grimly. 

Ye needna’ repeat it ; one whisky is enough.” 

“ Not for me,” laughed Robert, slapping him on 
the shoulder. “Ye dinna ken my capacity.” The 
noise of a chair overturning in the next room ar- 
rested his attention. 

“ What’s that? ” he asked quickly. 

“ It’s n — nothing,” stammered John. 

“ There’s somebody in that room,” exclaimed Rob, 
putting his ear to the crack in the door. “ I hear 
her walking around.” 

“ Nay, nay, Rob, it’s nobody,” protested John, 
pushing him away. 

“Oh, oh, John Anderson, my Jo John!” cried 
Rob, pointing an accusing finger at the flushed, 
embarrassed face of the old man, “ I’m on to 
ye.” 

“ For shame, Robbie, an’ me wi’ an old wife below 
stairs,” he answered indignantly. 

“ Faith, I’ll just find out who it is,” chuckled Rob, 
going toward the door. 

“ Nay, nay, lad! ” remonstrated John, holding him 
back. “ Wait, I’ll tell ye who it is.” 

“ Ah, I knew it,” ej aculated Rob triumphantly. 
“Who is it?” 

“It’s — it’s the Bailie,” faltered John. 

“ The Bailie? what’s he doing in there? ” 

“ Weel, he — he came to arrest ye for debt,” glibly 
lied the old man. “ So I told him to wait in there 


HIGHLAND MARY 167 

till ye came hame, an’ noo he’s my prisoner ; that’s a’, 
Robbie.” 

Rob grasped his hand gratefully. “Ye’re a true 
friend, John Anderson. Let me see, how much do I 
owe him.? ” 

John backed quickly away from him. “ Nay, nay, 
laddie ! ” he said decidedly. “ I havena anither 
penny.” 

“ Neither have I,” laughed Rob ruefully. “ So 
I’ll leave ye to get him out the best way ye can ; he’s 
your prisoner, not mine. I’d like to pitch him down 
stairs. Come on, John, between us we ought to man- 
age the old Shylock.” 

“ Nay, nay, Robbie,” he retorted dryly. “ Take 
my word for’ it, we’d hae our hands full.” 

“ Weel, I’ll get into the rest of my clothes, for I’m 
due in society,” yawned Rob, going to his room. 
“ Grct rid of him, John; do what ye like with him; 
he’s no friend of mine,” and he went in and closed 
the door behind him. 

John softly followed him to the door and turned 
the key in the lock. “ I’ll take nae chances,” he said 
grimly. 

“ Good-evening,’’ said a sweet voice timidly. He 
turned around and with a gasp of astonishment 
beheld a young girl standing in the doorway. Sud- 
denly he gave a great start. Could his eyes deceive 
him.? Was that beautiful creature in the long white 
opera cloak, her golden locks piled in a gorgeous 


( 168 HIGHLAND MARY 

mass high upon her little head, really the barefooted 
lass he had seen only a few days ago, in her short 
skirt of plaid? 

“ Mary Campbell, is it yourseP, lass ? ” he finally 
gasped. 

“ Aye, ’tis really me,” laughed Mary happily. 
“ I’m goin’ to the ball at Athol Castle with Mrs. 
Dunlop. I wanted Robbie to see me in my gown 
before I went, so Mrs. Dunlop left me here, while she 
drove over to pick up Mrs. McLehose ; then she’ll 
return for me. Where is Robbie, John? ” 

“ He’s in there dressing, Mary, but whist, I’ve 
something to tell ye first.” 

“About Robbie? ” she asked anxiously. 

“ Aye, there’s the devil to pay here, Mary.” The 
old man’s face looked gloomy and perturbed. 
“ There’s a — a lady in that room.” 

“ A — a lady ! ” gasped Mary in amazement, look- 
ing at the door of Robbie’s chamber. 

“ Aye, Lady Nancy Gordon hersel’.” 

“ Then it’s true,” cried Mary, sinking into a 
chair, a great fear tugging at her heart. “ It’s 
true, then, all the stories I hear, that Robert is be- 
bewitched wi’ her. I wouldna’ believe it before. 
Mrs. Dunlop says it isna’ true, that Robbie hasna’ 
changed, but noo what can I think? Oh, laddie, oh, 
laddie ! ” and she sank back pale and trembling. 

“ There, lassie, Robert doesna’ care a penny for 
that lass,” he said tenderly. “ She is only a heartless 


HIGHLAND MARY 169 

coquette, o’er fond of adventure,” and he laid 
his wrinkled hand caressingly on the golden head. 
“ Noo look here, Mary, ye mustna’ expect Rob- 
ert to be an angel all the time. He thinks only 
of ye, and he loves ye just as fondly, e’en if 
he does smile and make love to the ladies who 
throw themsel’s at his feet. He would lose his 
popularity, ye ken. ’Tis only an amusin’ pas- 
time, lassie, an’ but gives him inspiration for his 
poetry, so dinna’ take it to heart. Ye ken Rob is 
highly sensitive, a most temperamental lad, who is 
very susceptible to the charms of the fair sex, but 
whist, Mary, he isn’t marrying any of them. There 
is only one lassie who will be his wife noo, and she’s 
nae far away from me this moment.” And he nodded 
his head sagely. 

“ Why dinna’ they leave him alone.? ” sighed Mary 
disconsolately. “ ’Tis very unmaidenly in them to 
seek for his favor so openly.” 

“ Noo, lassie,” said John seriously, “ we maun 
get Lady Nancy out o’ this scrape, for the house 
is watched noo by her father, who suspects her pres- 
ence here.” 

He walked up and down the room for a few 
moments plunged in deep thought. All at once his 
face brightened. 

“ I have thought o’ a scheme, lassie,” he said sud- 
denly. “ Let Lady Nancy take this long cloak of 
yours; ’twill cover her o’er entirely; then she can 


170 HIGHLAND MABY 

walk boldly out past her father; he will think ’tis 
ye, Mary, and will na’ stop her. Ye’re both of a 
height,” and he regarded her with anxious eyes. 

“ Why should I help her ? ” said Mary, her heart 
still heavy and sore. 

“ For Robbie’s sake,” pleaded John. “ Her father 
will blame the lad for it all; perhaps he will shoot 
him, and he an innocent man. Why, lassie, he 
doesna’ even ken the lass is in the house.” 

‘‘ Doesna’ ken it ? ” repeated Mary, smiling in- 
credulously. Why, John, Robert isna’ blind. If 
she is in his room — ” 

‘‘ But she isna’ in his room, Mary,” interrupted 
John. “ She’s in there, scared to death,” and he 
pointed to the door opposite. 

“ Oh ! ” comprehended Mary with a sigh of relief. 
“That’s different. I’ll help her noo, John,” and 
she jumped eagerly to her feet, her face flushed and 
earnest. 

“ That’s the girlie,” replied J ohn heartily. Going 
to the door, he opened it and whispered to Lady 
Nancy to come out. 

“ Lud, I thought you were never coming,” she 
flashed as she hastily entered the room. She stopped 
short upon seeing Mary. 

“This lady will help ye get away,” said John, 
looking angrily at the bogus Lady Nancy. 

“ Where have I seen that face before ” Lady 
Glencairn asked herself nervously, looking closely 



Mary quickly divested herself of her mantle and threw it about 
the bare shoulders of the disdainful lady.” 



HIGHLAND MARY 171 

into Mary’s flushed, innocent face, that reminded 
her so guiltily of Lady Nancy Gordon herself. 

Mary quickly divested herself of her mantle and 
threw it about the bare shoulders of the disdainful 
lady, who hastily drew the large hood over her elab- 
orate court wig, entirely concealing it within its 
voluminous folds. 

With a quick careless word of thanks to Mary, she 
walked to the door, and calling to John, who was 
quietly turning the key in Robert’s door, to show 
her the way out, she swiftly left the room, and with 
wildly beating heart, passed her uncle at the outer 
door, and mingled her presence with the stream of 
gallant courtiers and laughing, gayly-dressed ladies 
that wended its boisterous way along the crowded 
thoroughfare. 


CHAPTER XIV 


When Mary found herself alone she sat down pen- 
sively in the big leather chair, feeling very sad and 
thoughtful. Of course she trusted Robert absolutely, 
but how could he really love such an ignorant little 
country girl like herself, when there were so many 
grand, rich, beautiful ladies surrounding him all the 
time and suing for his favors, even seeking him out 
in his own rooms But her face brightened as she 
thought of what John had told her. “ It isna’ his 
fault if the women lose their hearts over him,” he had 
said, and in her heart she felt she could not blame 
anyone for loving Robbie. She rose and softly ap- 
proached his door. Then she paused. No, she would 
wait till he came and found her himself. But she did 
wish he would hurry and finish dressing before Mrs. 
Dunlop came back. She strolled aimlessly about the 
room looking with listless eyes at the collections of 
souvenirs and bric-a-brac which filled the mantels and 
covered the tables. She noted with wonder the profu- 
sion of ladies’ gloves, ’kerchief, scarfs, a slipper or 
two and a motley collection of other articles littering 
the table. She picked up a beautiful pink mask and 
idly turned it over ; on the back she read, ‘‘ Dropped 
by Lady Nancy at the Charity Ball given in honor 
of the Prince of Wales.” She put it down, her lips 


HIGHLAND MARY 173 

trembling. He must prize it very highly, she 
thought with a pang of jealousy; but as she read 
the various inscriptions on the back of a number of 
the others, she smiled and told herself what a silly she 
was. Of course he couldn’t be in love with all the 
owners of those many favors. She picked up the 
mask again and held it before her eyes. How funny 
to cover one’s face in such a manner, she thought. 
She fastened the elastic behind her ear, and with 
a woman’s curiosity wondered how she looked 
in it. She quickly spied the large cheval mirror 
in the cabinet. “ How funny I do look,” she 
said to herself with a little amused laugh, as 
she caught sight of her reflection. “ Nobody would 
ever know me.” As she drew closer to the mir- 
ror in pleased wonder her dancing eyes slowly wan- 
dered from the top of the glittering coil of her 
golden hair, dwelt for an instant in blushing 
modesty on the gleaming, bare shoulders, and rested 
in loving, blissful content on her simple trailing robe 
of ivory-tinted embroidered silk. She looked angelic- 
ally lovely as she stood there innocently admiring 
her winsome reflection. 

“ Is that really the Highland Mary who used to 
wander barefooted through the glens and vales, the 
simple dairymaid who made butter for Colonel 
Montgomery ? ” she asked herself dreamily. ‘‘ Am 
I awake, I wonder.? How Souter Johnny would 
open his eyes if he could only see me noo in this 


174 HIGHLAND MARY 

beautiful gown, carrying a fan an’ wi’ my hair done 
up high.” She laughed gleefully but softly at the 
thought. “ Wouldna’ they be proud to see me such a 
grand lady.” She walked stiffly across the room 
with all the dignity she could command, her 
chin held high and taking quick little pleased 
glances over her shoulder at her reflection. It was 
Mary’s first long gown, and it was not to be wondered 
at, when in turning quickly around a chair she 
easily became entangled in her train, and with a little 
frightened gasp she suddenly found herself on her 
knees endeavoring to extricate her feet from the 
clinging mass of silk and linen in which they were 
enmeshed. Finally she succeeded in regaining her 
feet, but not until she had with extreme care seated 
herself did she breathe a sigh of relief. She eyed her 
train ruefully. “ If I should fall doon before all 
the great people at the ball, I should be so ashamed,” 
she said, sighing dismally. “ They would all laugh 
at me. But Robert says I am nicer than anyone in 
all the world.” She reveled in that thought an in- 
stant, then her face lengthened. “ But I ken there 
is a difference, a great difference; I am only a simple 
country lass without any leamin’ whatever, while 

Lady Nancy is ” she rose suddenly as a thought 

occurred to her, her hands clasped tightly together. 
“ Suppose he should grow ashamed of his ignorant 
little country wife,” she whispered with trembling 
lips ; “ it would break my heart in twain.” 


HIGHLAND MARY 175 

She held out her hands passionately toward her 
unseen lover. “Ye willna’ ever regret makin’ me 
your wife, will ye dear.? ” she whispered imploringly. 
“Ye willna’ be sorry in years to come.” Quickly 
her loving, trustful faith reasserted itself. “ Nay, 
nay, my heart tells me ye willna’, so I’ll be foolish 
nae more. I’ll tell him what a silly lass I’ve been an’ 
how he’ll laugh at my doubting fears.” She took a 
step toward his door, when it opened and Robert came 
quickly into the room, dressed for the ball, looking 
very handsome in his plain and unpretending dress of 
blue homespun, for he still retained the same simplic- 
ity of manner and appearance that he brought with 
him from the country. He stopped in amazement 
as he came face to face with his unexpected vis- 
itor. 

Mary with a thrill of joy at the sight of her lover 
waited eagerly for the words of praise which she 
knew her appearance would elicit, and for which she 
hungered, but as he stood looking at her so calmly, 
so coldly, her joy turned to wonder and fear. What 
was the matter.? Didn’t she please him.? With 
a little gasp she put her hand nervously to her 
face. As it came in contact with the mask, which 
she had forgotten to remove, her heart gave a quick 
bound of relief. Of course! He didn’t know her. 
“ He doesna’ ken who I am at all,” she thought 
gleefully. 

As his eyes rested upon the pink mask, Robert 


176 HIGHLAND MARY 

gave a sudden start, then glanced quickly at the 
table. No, it wasn’t there. So then this was Lady 
Nancy herself. He recognized her hair, her figure, 
and above all the mask. ‘‘So my haughty lady 
thinks it safer to play wi’ fire incognito, eh.? ” 
he thought grimly. “ Weel, I’ll teach ye a lesson, 
my fine lady ; ye need one badly.” Then aloud, “ I’m 
indeed honored, madam, by your presence here to- 
night,” he said, bowing low before her. 

Mary courtesied deeply. Oh, it was so exciting to 
be talking with her Robbie, and how surprised he 
would be when she unmasked. 

“Haven’t ye a word to say to me, fair lady?” 
continued Robert softly, as she stood silently before 
him. 

“ He’ll sure ken my voice,” she thought in trepida- 
tion; “if I could only talk like a lady.” She won- 
dered if she could imitate the haughty tones of Lady 
Nancy Gordon herself. She’d try. She seated her- 
self languidly. “ Then you don’t recognize me? ” 
she asked, disguising her lyric voice, as near as possi- 
ble, in the lazy drawl of Lady Glencairn’s voice. 

He started and looked at her intently. It didn’t 
sound like Lady Nancy at all, but who else could 
she be? he thought blankly. “Your voice sounds 
like — but nae, I maun be mistaken,” he said doubt- 
fully. “ Nay, madam, I do not recognize you. Will 
you not remove ” 

“ What, my face? ” laughed Mary. She had mar- 


HIGHLAND MARY 177 

velously lost all trace of her country intonation. 

Oh, nay, sir ! I’m too much attached to it.” 

“Well ye might be, fair lady!” replied Robert, 
“but why do ye hide your beauty so jealously.?^ ” 
He reached out his hand to lift the mask from her 
face, but, with a rippling laugh, she eluded him, and 
from behind the high-backed settle made reply. 

“ Be not impatient, Mr. Burns,” she said saucily ; 
“ you shall see my face in good time, I warrant ye! ” 
It must be Lady Nancy after all, he told himself. 

“ ’Tis a promise of paradise, madam ! ” he cried 
fervently, entering into the spirit of adventure. 

Mary looked at him reproachfully. Did he think 
she was really Lady Gordon? she wondered. The 
thought gave her pause. Well, she would find out 
how much he really cared for her, how much truth 
there was in the gossip she had heard. “ Rumor 
sayeth, Mr. Burns, that ye are in love with the beau- 
tiful Lady Nancy Grordon; is that so?” she asked, 
fanning herself languorously. 

He smiled quizzically into her face. “ Rumor hath 
many tongues, fair lady, and most of them lying ones. 
The lady doesna’ suit my taste; even her money 
couldna’ tempt me, an’ I need the money badly. 
That will take her conceit down a peg I’ll warrant,” 
he thought grimly. 

“ But she is very beautiful, I hear,” said Mary, 
filled with delight at his answer. 

“ That I grant ye. Mistress Nancy is most 


178 HIGHLAND MARY 

adept in the use of the hare’s foot an’ of the paint 
box. I’ll wager she can teach even our incompar- 
able actress, Mrs. Siddons, a few tricks in the art of 
makeup. Oh, but ye should see the lady in the early 
morning. ’Fore heaven, she resembles damaged 
goods! ” Now would come the explosion of wounded 
pride and outraged dignity, he thought calmly, but 
his amazement was unbounded when the seeming 
Lady Nancy jumped up and down, ecstatically clap- 
ping her hands in a very undignified manner. Ye 
seem o’er pleased at my remark,” he exclaimed with 
a puzzled frown. 

‘‘ I am, I am pleased! ” she cried joyfully. 

What.? ” he stammered taken aback — ‘‘ why, I — 

I thought ye were ” He stopped, flushed and 

embarrassed. 

“Were Lady Nancy Gordon!” she finished. “O 
Lud, if I were, I wouldn’t feel complimented at all the 
flattering things I’ve heard ! ” and she went off in 
a peal of merry laughter. 

“ Who are ye then, who comes to my chamber at 
night ? ” he asked curtly, chagrined at his mistake. 
She shook her head and laughed softly. 

“Ye shall know in good time,” she replied coquet- 
tishly. “ I — I must make certain that ye dinna’ love 
— ^me.” She smiled, but her heart was beating wildly. 

“ I love only one maiden, an’ I make her my wife 
within a week,” he answered with dignity. 

“ An’ ye’ve no regrets for Lady Nancy, nor for 


HIGHLAND MARY 179 

Mrs. McLehose, nor — nor any o’ the grand ladies 
ye’ll be givin’ up to marry the little country 
maiden she asked softly, forgetting in her eager- 
ness her lapse into her natural speech. 

“ None, my lady,” he replied firmly. Noo, lets call 
a truce to this masquerade ! I am at a loss to under- 
stand your errand here to-night, but do not press 
ye for an explanation, and as I am due at the Duke 
of Athol’s, I must bid ye good-night.” He bowed 
coldly, and started to leave her. 

But with a cry of joy, which thrilled him to the 
heart, she drew near to him with outstretched arms. 
“ Robbie, lad, canna’ ye guess who I ” she 
cried. “ I’m nae a grand lady at all, I’m only your 
Highland Mary.” With a quick movement, she tore 
off the mask from her flushed and radiant face and 
threw it far from her. 

“Mary, is it ye.^* ” he gasped, almost speechless 
with surprise. He could scarcely believe his senses. 
This radiantly beautiful lady his Highland Mary? 
was such a metamorphosis possible? 

She made him a little courtesy. “ Aye, ’tis 
Mary ! ” she answered, her heart beating fast with 
pleasure. Quickly she told him how she had come, 
why she had come, and how long she had waited, 
just to hear his words of approval. “ Do I please 
ye, laddie ? ” she asked shyly. 

For a moment he could not speak. Her wonder- 
ful perfection of beauty startled him. He drew her 


180 HIGHLAND MARY 


closely into his arms, kissing her with almost 
pathetic tenderness. “ Mary, my love, my sweet 
lass ! ” and his voice trembled. ‘‘ Pleased ! Good 
Heavens, what little words those are to express my 
feelings. I can tell ye how you look, for nothing can 
ever make ye vain! Ye’re the most beautiful lassie 
Pve ever seen ! Ah, but I’m proud of ye this night. 
Ye’re fit to wear a coronet, Mary lass ! I ken there 
will not be a grand lady at the ball to-night who 
will look half sae bonnie, nor hae such sweet, dainty 
manners, as my country sweetheart.” He held her 
off at arm’s length and glanced with affectionate 
adoration, from the fair, golden-crowned head down 
to the point of the small pearl-embroidered slipper 
that peeped beneath the edge of the rich, sheeny 
white robe. 

‘‘ It seems so strange to be here in Edinburgh, 
decked out in all this finery,” she murmured dreamily, 
“ and on my way to a real ball. Is it really me ? ” 

“ Aye, ’tis ye, Mary, I’ll swear to that ! ” he cried 
heartily, kissing the sweet, ingenuous face raised to 
his so wistfully. She blushed with pleasure, and 
bashfully turned her head away. ‘‘Ye dinna’ think 
I look awkward, do ye laddie ? ” she inquired in a low, 
timid voice. 

“ Nay, ye’re grace itself, sweetheart!” he replied 
reassuringly, raising her chin till her drooping eyes 
met his. 

“ An’ ye wouldna ken I was onty a dairymaid 


HIGHLAND MARY 181 

if it werena for my speech, would ye?” she inter- 
rogated, with pathetic hopefulness. Her concerned, 
anxious little face and wistful manner touched him 
deeply. 

“ I wouldna have ye changed for all the world, 
Mary ! ” he told her tenderly, pressing his lips to the 
one little curl which hung unconfined over her snowy 
shoulder. “ Be your own pure, sweet self always, 
for ye’re the fairest of all God’s creatures to me 
noo.” 

She gave a deep sigh of absolute content, and 
leaned against him silently for a moment. Then she 
looked up at him brightly. ‘‘ This fine dress makes 
me quite a grand lady, doesna’ it? ” she prattled 
innocently. 

“ Aye ! every inch a queen ! ” and he made her a 
deep bow. 

‘‘ But it isna mine, Robbie,” she whispered confi- 
dentially. “ I borrowed it for the night only, like 
Cinderella in the fairy book, to make my debut into 
fashionable society,” and she laughed gleefully, like 
a little child telling a wonderful secret. “ It’s Mrs. 
Dunlop’s wedding gown, Robbie; isna it just 
sweet? ” She passed her hand gently over the folds 
of the silk and there was awe and reverence in the 
touch. “ Oh, how I love to smooth it, ’tis so soft an’ 
rich an’ glossy; it isna’ wrong to love the beautiful 
things, is it, laddie? ” she asked earnestly. 

“ Nay,” rephed Robert, smiling tenderly at her 


182 HIGHLAND MARY 


naivete. “ Love the pretty things all ye like, dearie, 
for hereafter ye shall have the finest gowns in town. 
Ye shall select whatsoever your fancy pleases — 
dresses, bonnets, mits, boots,” and he enumerated 
on his fingers all the articles he could remember so 
dear to a woman’s heart. 

“ Shall I really, really? ” she gasped as he 
finished, looking at him with wondering eyes. “ I 
hae never bought a pretty thing in a’ my life, ye ken, 
an’ oh, won’t it be just sweet? We’ll go to the shops 
to-morrow, an’ Mrs. Dunlop will help me select my 
— my wedding gown.” She held her head away bash- 
fully, blushing pink before the sudden fire that 
gleamed in the dark eyes bent on her so devotedly. 

“ Your wedding gown? ” he repeated, with dreamy 
softness. “ Let it be silk, Mary, white, soft and 
shimmering, to float around ye like a cloud of sun- 
shine. An’ ye must have a bridal veil too, lassie, one 
sae fine an’ transparent that it will cover ye o’er like 
the morning mist.” 

“ I would be afraid to buy so much,” she replied 
gravely. “ ’Twould be too costly, an’ ye canna’ 
afford to waste sae much money to deck me out like 
a lady,” and she shook her head in firm disapproval. 

He laughed heartily at her sober face and air of 
housewifely prudence. “ My dear,” he whimsically 
told her, “ dinna’ ye mind the cost. A weddin’ 
doesna’ often happen in one’s lifetime, sae we’ll make 
it a grand one this time.” 


HIGHLAND MARY 183 

“ Ye’ll spoil me, Robbie,” she answered, smiling 
happily. 

“ Nay, ye’re too sweet and lovely to be spoiled.” 

‘‘ Well, ye ken,” she replied demurely, “ sweet 
things spoil the quickest.” 

Before he could reply, the rattle of a carriage 
over the pavement sounded loudly through the 
room. As it stopped at the door, Mary gave a little 
sigh of regret. “ It’s Mrs. Dunlop, returning for 
me at last,” she said. She secretly hoped the sharp 
old eyes would not miss the cloak. 

‘‘ Aye, like the good fairy godmother,” smiled 
Robert, as he led her out of the room and down the 
stairs. 

‘‘ I feel as if I were in a dream,” she murmured 
softly, picking up her train, and lovingly holding it 
over her arm, as she walked daintily across the side- 
walk to the waiting carriage. “ If I am, laddie,” 
she continued earnestly, “ I hope I may never awake 
from it; I want to dream on forever.” 


CHAPTER XV 


When Lady Glencaim, after her arrival at the Duke 
of AthoPs, found that Robert had not come — indeed 
she and Lord Glencaim and Sir William Creech, her 
uncle, had been the first to arrive — she decided reck- 
lessly to visit him at his chambers, so she had easily 
stolen away unnoticed by all save one, on her indis- 
creet journey. Sir William had seen her as she 
slipped guiltily out through the conservatory win- 
dow and had followed her with growing suspicions 
to the door of Robert’s chamber, where he waited in 
impotent wrath for her to reappear, after having 
questioned the guidwife within the inn. And he 
was not deceived when she came out, wrapped in the 
disguising cloak and mask. He followed her like a 
grim servitor till she reached the castle, and as she 
was noiselessly reentering by the conservatory win- 
dow, he called to her to wait. With a startled gasp 
she turned, and as her eyes rested on her uncle’s 
accusing face, she gave a little laugh, half scornful, 
half defiant, and leisurely throwing off her cloak and 
mask, stood waiting for him to speak. 

“ Ye foolish woman ! ” he told her angrily. 
‘‘ How could ye be so imprudent, reckless mad, as to 
visit a man’s chamber at night.? ” 

“ Don’t preach to me, uncle,” she answered sul- 
184 


HIGHLAND MARY 185 

lenly. “No one knows of my being there, not even 
Mr. Burns himself.” 

“ But what were ye thinkin’ of to do such a repre- 
hensible act ? ” he demanded sternly. She turned on 
him suddenly. 

“ Because I love him ! ” she exclaimed passionately, 
casting prudence to the winds. “ I went there to tell 
him of my love, to give myself to him, to beg him to 
take me away from here, to take me anywhere, only 
to let me be near him, to stay with him. But I was 
forced to come away without seeing him, thanks to 
you.” 

For a moment he regarded the reckless woman in 
silence, amazement, shame, and anger struggling for 
the mastery. 

“ Alice, of what are you thinking.? ” he ejaculated 
finally, catching her roughly by the arm. “ You 
must control yourself. I speak for your own good. 
Think no more of this idle poet, for only shame, 
ruin and unhappiness can come to ye and your hus- 
band, unless ye give up this unholy passion.” 

She laughed scornfully. “ My husband ! ” she 
cried bitterly. “Don’t remind me of that fossil! 
You, and the rest of my family, are to blame for my 
being fettered, tied to a man I do not love. If it 
were not for that, I could find the happiness I 
crave.” 

“ Sh ! be calm ! ” he continued, looking anxiously 
around. “You may be overheard. Foolish woman! 


186 HIGHLAND MARY 

do you forget that Robert Bums, as well as yourself, 
is married.” 

“ He is not ! ” she flashed impetuously. “ That 
was no legal tie. Some foolish chit of a country lass 
flung herself at him, with the usual result. Any 
man would have done as he did, but unlike most men, 
he, out of pity and from a high sense of honor, mar- 
ried her; but it was an irregular marriage, which 
was speedily annulled by the girl’s father. He is 
free now, free as ever he was. The girl has given 
him up, poor fool. I only am the shackled one, a 

prisoner for life, unless ” An eager light flashed 

in her deepened eyes. 

“ Unless Robert Burns elopes with ye ! ” he finished 
sarcastically. “ I warn ye, Alice, not to play with 
edged tools; ’tis o’er dangerous. Be more careful 
or others will suspect what I already know.” She 
smiled disdainfully and shrugged her shapely shoul- 
ders. 

“ Do not force me to open your husband’s eyesJ ” 
he retorted, angered by her irritating indiflPerence. 
She looked at him, her heart filled with sudden fury. 
How she would like to hit him in the face with her 
fan, how she hated him and his interference, his 
unwelcome advice. “ Already,” he continued irri- 
tably, “ you have given that scandalmonger, Eppy 
McKay, cause to suspect your too warm and ardent 
affection for Mr. Burns, by openly showing jeal- 
ousy of Lady Nancy Gordon.” 


HIGHLAND MARY 187 

‘‘ I jealous of Nancy Gordon? ” she repeated, with 
airy scorn, walking toward the door of the conserva- 
tory. “ Huh, not I, uncle ; I am not so unconscious 
of my own charms,” and she drew her magnificent 
figure up to its full height, then smiled insolently into 
his perturbed and nervous face. ‘‘ I thank you for 
all your advice,” she murmured sweetly as they trav- 
ersed the long hall, “ but remember, hereafter, that 
I mean to steer my own canoe, whether it leads me 
into safe waters or through the rapids.” And with 
a radiant smile upon her sensuous lips she entered 
the drawing-room, leaning affectionately upon the 
arm of her outraged but speechless relative. Quietly 
she took her place by her waiting husband’s side, her 
dark eyes full of a bewitching and dangerous soft- 
ness, for her thoughts were on the one guest whose 
very name had the power to move her so com- 
pletely. 

Never had she appeared so dazzlingly beautiful, as 
she stood there meeting her friends and acquaint- 
ances with a deep ceremonious courtesy for the dis- 
tinguished ones, a smile and a nod for her intimates, 
and an air of high-bred insolence and extreme self- 
satisfaction prevading her whole appearance. 

No one was ever bored at the Duchess of Athol’s 
brilliant “ at homes.” One always felt sure of 
meeting at least three or four justly celebrated 
personages under her hospitable roof. And to-night 
society was a-gog, for it was to welcome the farmer- 


188 HIGHLAND MARY 

poet, Robert Burns, who had returned from his 
triumphant tour through the Highlands. Soon the 
capacious drawing-rooms were crowded. There was 
the rustle of silk and satin, rare and delicate per- 
fumes shaken out of lace kerchiefs, while the heavy 
scent of the many bouquets oppressed the warm air 
to the point of suffocation. There was an intermi- 
nably monotonous murmur of voices, only broken at 
rare intervals by a ripple of mild laughter. Over 
by the large windows that overlooked the terrace 
stood a group of people gazing earnestly out beyond 
the gardens at some object, which had arrested their 
attention, with various degrees of interest, 

“ Whatever is happening below on Princes 
Street? ” suddenly inquired one of the ladies, nerv- 
ously clutching the arm of the man nearest her. 
Eppy McKay was an eccentric maiden lady of ques- 
tionable age and taste. Of more than ordinary 
height naturally, she looked a giantess in her pow- 
dered wig, which towered fully a foot in the air, and 
which was decorated profusely with waving plumes, 
rosettes and jewels. Her lowcut gown of crimson 
satin, over a petticoat of quilted green silk, was cut 
extremely low, revealing a vision of skin and bones, 
powdered to a ghastly whiteness. Her affectations, 
her simperings, and her poses accorded society much 
amusement, of which fact she was blissfully uncon- 
scious. 

“ There is a crowd gathered around a carriage. 


HIGHLAND MARY 189 

but farther than that I cannot make out,” replied 
Mr. Mackenzie, the famous author and publisher. 

A prolonged shout from below increased the rest- 
lessness of the timid Eppy. Oh, dear ! ” she gasped. 
“ If it should be an uprising of the Jacobites,” and 
she looked fearfully into the amused faces of her 
companions. 

With a disgusted grunt. Sir William Creech shook 
his arm free from her clawlike clutch. “ Nonsense, 
woman, ye’re daft ! ” he answered impatiently. 

“ Well, upon my word! ” she murmured in injured 
surprise. 

“ The mob is increasing — ’tis coming nearer ! ” 
exclaimed Mr. Mackenzie, stepping out upon the 
wide balcony. 

“ So it is,” affirmed Eppy, retreating behind the 
heavy curtains. “ Lady Glencaim I ” she called as 
her ladyship approached the window. “ Listen to 
those murmurs ! Oh, dear ! it makes me so nervous.” 

Lady Glencairn stepped out upon the balcony, 
followed by the timid Eppy, and stood contemplat- 
ing the scene in the brightly lighted street below 
them. 

“ It sounds not ominous,” she said quietly, after a 
moment. “ Lud, what a throng I They have un- 
hitched the horses from a carriage, and are them- 
selves drawing it hither.” 

“ Who is in the carriage, can you see? ” eagerly 
asked Eppy, straining her eyes. 


190 HIGHLAND MARY 


‘‘ A gentleman, who is evidently addressing the 
people,” answered Lady Glencairn slowly. She 
gazed intently at the figure silhouetted against the 
light of the street lamps. Surely she knew that 
form. At that moment he turned, and with a flush 
of surprise, a thrill of joy, she suddenly recognized 
him. 

“ Upon my life, ’tis Robert, Robert Bums ! ” she 
cried excitedly. 

‘‘ Aye, I recognize him now,” said Mr. Mackenzie. 

“ And you say they are drawing him hither ” in- 
quired Sir William incredulously, turning to his 
niece. 

“Aye, and why not?” she replied brightly, turn- 
ing to the others. “ They should carry him on their 
shoulders, for he deserves all homage.” 

“ And ’tis said the Scots are not demonstrative,” 
ejaculated Mr. Mackenzie, as another burst of ap- 
plause and cheers, followed by laughter, reached their 
ears. 

“ You hear how demonstrative they can be when 
occasion demands enthusiasm,” replied Lady Glen- 
caira stanchly, “ when genius knocks at the door of 
their hearts. See how Edinburgh has utterly lost 
control of its conservative old self, and all over the 
poetic genius of Robert Burns.” 

“ True, he has indeed stirred the hardest-hearted 
Scot by his fascinating poetry,” mused Mr. Mac- 
kenzie admiringly. 


HIGHLAND MARY 191 

“ How I shall love him,” sighed Eppy dreamily. 
“ In sooth I do now,” and she simpered and dropped 
her eyes like a love-sick school girl. 

“ And she has never met the man yet ! ” cried Sir 
William in amazement. “ The woman’s daft,” he 
muttered, turning away. 

“ I do wish he would come,” sighed Eppy. “ I 
want to tell him how much I admire him and his 
poetry. Oh, I have the dearest little speech, that 
Sibella, my sister, composed, all prepared to say when 
I am presented to him.” She rolled her eyes up ecstat- 
ically. 

“ I shall also recite one of his odes to him,” she 
continued, in the tone of one who is about to con- 
fer a great favor. “ I know ’twill please him 
greatly,” and she fanned herself languidly. 

“ What have you selected? ” inquired Lady Glen- 
cairn, laughing openly. The woman’s vanity amused 
her. 

‘‘ Such a sweet conceit,” simpered Eppy. 

“ Is it ‘ Tam O’Shanter’s Tale ’ ? ” inquired Mr. 
Mackenzie, interestedly. 

“ No, oh, no ! ” she replied, shaking her head. 
“ ’Tis monstrous long to recite.” 

“An ode to a calf,” said Sir William grimly, 
“ would be more appropriate.” 

“ Perhaps ’tis the tale of ‘ The Twa Dogs,’ ” haz- 
arded Lady Glencaim. Eppy laughed gleefully and 
shook her head. 


192 HIGHLAND MARY 


“ Tell US the name, madam ; we’re no children ! ” 
roared Sir William, glaring at her like an angry 
bull. 

“ You’re so gruff,” pouted Eppy reproachfully. 
“Do you all give it up.?^ ” They nodded. “Well, 
then, don’t be shocked,” and she shook her finger at 
them coquettishly ; then leaning forward she whis- 
pered loudly, “ ’Tis entitled ‘ To a Louse.’ ” 

“Heaven, preserve us!” ejaculated Mr. Mac- 
kenzie, laughing heartily. 

“ She’s touched here I ” cried Sir William commiser- 
atingly, putting his finger to his head. 

“ Why did you choose that ? ” gasped Lady Glen- 
cairn, in amazement. 

“ Because ’tis a beautiful conceit,” answered Eppy 
soulfuUy. “ I protest, I mean to recite it.” 

“ I vow ’tis a most singular selection.” 

“ I don’t see why,” snapped Eppy spitefully. 
“ ’Twas written round a fact.” 

“ Really, I hadn’t heard of that,” answered her 
ladyship, coolly turning away. 

“ I wonder at that,” cooed Eppy innocently, 
although a little malicious twinkle appeared in her 
eyes. “ You of all people should know everything 
pertaining to Mr. Burns and his verses.” Lady 
Glencairn stiffened suddenly, and cast a quick look 
at the stern face of her uncle. 

“ What do you mean by that ? ” inquired Sir 
William aggressively, turning to Eppy. 


HIGHLAND MARY 193 

“ Oh, nothing, nothing ! ” she hastily replied, 
frightened by what she had said. 

“ Everything concerning Mr. Bums, my hus- 
band’s protege, and my friend, my dear friend, I 
may call him, does interest me mightily. Miss Mc- 
Kay. Pray tell me the story connected with the 
poem, if you care to ! ” and Lady Glencairn turned 
her glittering eyes, which were narrowed danger- 
ously, upon the face of the crestfallen Eppy. 

Sir William gave a snort of anger. “ Ye couldn’t 
stop her ; she is dying to tell all she knows ! ” he said 
crustily. 

Eppy cleared her throat vigorously. ‘‘ Well, it 
was this way,” she began confidentially. ‘‘ Mr. 
Bums was sitting behind a lady in Kirk, one Sab- 
bath, who had on a new bonnet, of which she seemed 
most proud. As he was admiring its beauty, his 
keen eyes detected this horrid little animal crawling 
over the gauze and lace.” 

“ How fascinating,” murmured Mr. Mackenzie in 
mocking rapture. 

“ And it immediately inspired his pen to write the 
verses which have made such a sensation in town,” 
concluded Eppy, looking eagerly at her listeners for 
some look or word of approval. 

“ What a — a creepy story,” said Lady Glencairn, 
with a little shiver of repulsion. 

She turned to her quickly. “ ’Tis said, my dear, 
and I ask you not to repeat it, for I promised not to 


194 HIGHLAND MARY 


tell, that the lady in question was Agnes McLehose, 
the beautiful grass widow, who is such an ardent ad- 
mirer of Mr. Burns, you know.” 

‘‘ Really ! ” murmured Lady Glencairn coldly. 

“ And the airs she put on ! ” cried Eppy, with 
lofty indignation. ‘‘ Why, do you know ” 

But Lady Glencairn interrupted her sharply. “ I 
do not care to speak of Anges McLehose,” she re- 
torted frigidly, “ and I never indulge in scandal, 
especially before my friends, so let us not disgust 
them with any woman’s gossip.” 

“ You are quite right,” affirmed Eppy affably. 
‘‘ I do not believe in it myself ; it always comes back 
to one.” 

“Who can understand a woman.? ” grunted Sir 
William aloud. 

“ Well, it’s most easy to understand men,” re- 
torted Eppy quickly. 

With a sigh of impatience. Lady Glencairn took 
Mr. Mackenzie’s arm and silently they reentered the 
drawing-room. They wended their way through the 
groups of people standing about, for the largest and 
most brilliant portion of the assemblage were stand- 
ing, the sofas, ottomans, and chairs being occupied 
by the puffy old dowagers, who were entertaining 
each other with choice bits of scandal; and, finally, 
came to a standstill beside the grand piano. For a 
moment they remained quiet, listening to the glorious 
voice of Madame Urbani, who from the great 


HIGHLAND MARY 195 

drawing-room above was trilling forth an aria from 
grand opera. From her position Lady Glencairn 
commanded a good view of the large arch through 
which the guests entered the drawing-rooms. Anx- 
iously she watched for the handsome face and 
curly black hair of the poet above the crowd that 
surrounded her. “ Why does he not come.? what can 
be detaining him.?” she asked herself for the hun- 
dredth time. Perhaps he was with Lady Nancy 
Gordon, she thought jealously, looking about the vast 
room. She was sure she had not yet been announced. 
It looked very suspicious that neither she, nor Rob- 
ert, had arrived. And her heart was consumed with 
bitter jealousy, although her smiling face bore no 
traces of the raging fire within. How she hated that 
doll-faced beauty for being single and free! How 
she would delight in trampling her in the dust, she 
thought cruelly. Nearly a month had elapsed since 
Robert left Edinburgh, since she had seen him. A 
month filled with vain longing and unrest. And since 
his return, she could scarcely restrain her intense 
longing to see him. Day after day she would drive 
slowly past his lodgings, hoping to catch a glimpse 
of his glowing, dark face, which had such power to 
thrill her to the very depths of her intense and 
passionate nature. That longing had taken pos- 
session of her to-night, when she had slipped out and 
stolen away to his rooms, and she would have will- 
ingly given her body and soul to him, for the ask- 


196 HIGHLAND MARY 

ing ; but her good angel had protected her from her 
own indiscretion, and saved her unsuspecting victim 
from a great remorse. The gurgling voice of Eppy 
McKay broke in abruptly on her disturbing revery. 

“ Oh, dear, I wish Mr. Burns would come,” she 
said plaintively. 

“ He is usually very punctual,” answered Lady 
Glencairn, opening her large fan of ostrich plumes 
and fanning herself indolently. 

Genius is never governed by any rules of punc- 
tuality or propriety,” observed Mr. Mackenzie. 

“ Then he is exempt,” replied her ladyship, smil- 
ing brightly. “ Ah ! you truant. Where have you 
been.f^” she demanded of her husband, who joined 
them at that moment. 

‘‘ Incidentally getting a breath of fresh air, my 
dear,” replied Lord Glencairn, smiling lovingly into 
his wife’s face. ‘‘ But in reality, I was listening to 
the ovation which Robert was receiving as he drove 
through Princes Street.” Her eyes suddenly bright- 
ened. 

“ How I wish I could have heard his speech to the 
masses,” she cried enthusiastically. “ For I must 
confess, James, that no man’s conversation ever 
carried me off my feet so completely as that of Robert 
Bums.” 

“ Indeed, my lady ! ” he retorted in mock alarm. 
“ Then it behooves me to keep my eye on you here- 
after.” 


HIGHLAND MARY 197 

She joined in the laugh that followed, then re- 
marked audaciously, “ But, I vow, a little flirtation 
is really most exhilarating now and then.” She 
flashed her brilHant eyes mockingly upon the horror- 
struck countenance of Eppy McKay. 

“ How indiscreet ! ” exclaimed Eppy in amaze- 
ment, “ and you are a married woman, too.” 

“ ’Tis perfectly shocking, isn’t it.^^ ” mimicked her 
ladyship insolently. 

Eppy pursed her thin lips, while a little spot of 
color dyed her parchment-like cheeks. “ Well, I do 
not approve of married women flirting,” she replied 
primly, and as she caught the look of amusement 
which passed between her ladyship and Mr. Mac- 
kenzie, she added sourly, “ Especially in public.” 

“ Oh ! Then you do approve of it in private,” 
replied her ladyship sweetly, innocently opening her 
eyes to their widest. 

Eppy gave a gasp of horror. ‘‘ Mercy, no ! ” she 
cried indignantly, ‘‘ I should say not.” And she 
tossed her head in virtuous anger. 

“ Robert Bums ! ” announced the footman at this 
juncture. 

There was a sudden hush, a movement of excite- 
ment, and the group around the door fell back, and 
everybody made way for the most important guest 
of the evening, who for the last hour had been the all- 
absorbing topic of conversation. Lady Glencaira 
started violently, as she heard the name announced. 


198 HIGHLAND MARY 


For a brief instant she closed her eyes, feeling faint, 
and trembling in an ecstasy of joy. He was here 
at last! Her heart throbbed so violently it stifled 
her. 

“ How noble he looks ! ” exclaimed Eppy in an 
awestruck tone, as she watched the tall figure in a 
polite but determined manner coolly elbowing a pas- 
sage among the heaving bare shoulders, fat arms, 
the long trains, and bulging bustles and paniers 
that seriously obstructed his way. “ And to think 
that man is but a lowly-bred peasant,” observed Mr. 
Mackenzie, as he watched him bending low over the 
hand of their hostess. 

“ A man’s a man, for all that ! ” murmured her 
ladyship, worshipful pride in her voice and in her 
dazzling eyes, as she watched him approach, bowing 
right and left. She drew herself up with the con- 
scious air of a beauty who knows she is nearly per- 
fect, and with a smile she extended her jeweled hand. 
“ I’m so glad to see you here to-night,” she says 
sweetly, although a glance like fire seen through 
smoke leaps from beneath her silky eyelashes, but 
Robert saw it not; he was bending low over her fair 
hand. “Welcome back to Edinburgh!” she con- 
tinued, pressing his hand warmly. 

A bright smile lighted up his dark visage. 
“ Thank ye,” he returned simply. Then he turned 
to Lord Glencairn with outstretched hand. “ My 
lord ! ” he said warmly, “ how glad, how delighted. 


HIGHLAND MARY 199 

I am to again press the hand of my patron, my 
friend.” 

“ The pleasure is mutual, my lad ! ” he replied. A 
kindly smile lighted up his noble face, as he per- 
ceived the ruddy glow of health in the full cheeks, 
the flashing eyes of the young poet. “ Ah, you re- 
turn to us looking bonnier than ever,” he continued. 
“ Your triumphant tour through the north with 
its Highland chieftains and lords at your feet, has 
not turned your head after all.” 

Robert laughed good-naturedly. “Not a bit of 
it,” he replied frankly. 

“ Let me present Mr. Henry Mackenzie,” intro- 
duced Lady Glencaim at this juncture. 

Robert advanced eagerly to meet him, his hand 
extended, his eyes flashing with delight. “ The 
author of the ‘ Man of Feeling,’ the first book I 
loved and admired years ago ! ” he exclaimed in direct 
frankness. “ It is an unexpected pleasure, sir.” 

“ The pleasure is mutual,” replied Mr. Macken- 
zie, flushing at the compliment. “ We witnessed 
your triumphant progress up Princes Street, and 
were delighted at the ovation you received.” 

Robert laughed happily. “ Was it not wonder- 
ful.? ” he answered in his sonorous voice, which had 
such a thrilling richness in it. “ I could scarcely 
realize it was the once poor, humble Robbie Burns 
they were cheering. I am indeed happy ; my 
popularity has not begun to wane yet.” He re- 


200 HIGHLAND MARY 


garded the great publisher with kindling eyes. 
‘‘ That I am so favorably known, is due to your 
kindly articles in your inestimable paper, The 
Lounger, and your unbiased criticism of my poems, 
which brought me before the public, and I thank you 
most heartily for that generous criticism which was 
so judicious withal.” A little murmur of approval 
from his listeners greeted his last words. 

‘‘ ’Twas a pleasure, believe me, Mr. Burns,” he 
answered quietly, “ to lend a helping hand to assist 
a struggling genius.” 

‘‘ Thank ye,” said Robert, simply. 

‘‘ I believe you have never met our esteemed 
contemporary, Mr. Sterne, author of ‘ Tristam 
Shandy,’ ” observed Mr. Mackenzie, and he quickly 
made the introduction. 

Robert turned quickly to the grave and dignified 
scholar. “ Little did I ever dream,” he said fer- 
vently, “ that I would one day meet and converse with 
my two favorite authors.” 

A smile of gratified vanity overspread the rugged 
features of the scholar. “ I am proud indeed,” he 
observed pompously, “ if my book has found favor in 
your eyes, Mr. Burns.” And soon they had become 
engaged in an animated conversation, much to the 
chagrin of one of his admirers, who had been waiting 
patiently to be Introduced. She had been mentally 
rehearsing her little speech for some time, and was 
now waiting for the opportunity to deliver it. 


HIGHLAND MARY 201 

“No one would ever take him for a farmer,” she 
thought in open-mouthed, worshipful adoration. 

“ He looks quite like a gentleman,” said a haughty 
voice near her, in a tone of great surprise. 

“ Huh ! he makes love to every woman he meets ! ” 
replied Sir William spitefully. 

With a thrill of rapture at the thought, Eppy 
attracted the attention of Lady Glencaim, and 
whispered in that lady’s impatient ear, “ Introduce 
me, please; I see Mr. Burns is regarding me very 
closely.” 

Presently a lull occurred in the discussion, and 
Lady Glencairn smilingly introduced the garrulous 
old lady to the poet, as a “ warm admirer of his 
poems.” “ And of you, too,” eagerly interrupted 
Eppy, clasping his hand in both of her own. “ Oh ! 
I have longed for this moment, that I might clasp 
the hand of Scotia’s Bard, and tell him how I love 
him,” — she broke off with a smothered giggle. “ I 
mean his poems; oh, they are too heavenly for utter- 
ance,” and she rolled her little gray eyes till only the 
whites showed. “ Sibella — she’s my sister, and a 
dear creature if I do say so — and I have had many 
a lovely cry over them,” she rattled on hardly paus- 
ing for breath. “ Ah, they have made us so happy. 
You must come and see her, won’t you, she’s a writer 
also, and you can have a sweet talk over your art. 
We belong to a literary family, you know. Rob 
Don, the Gaelic poet, belonged to our clan. We take 


202 HIGHLAND MARY 

after him.” She smiled affectedly and batted her 
little eyes in what she fondly believed a very fetching 
manner. 

Robert had vainly tried to edge in a word, and 
now stood listening to the silly prattle, a smile of 
amusement playing round his mobile mouth. 

“ A long way after,” observed Sir William dryly. 
Then he threw up his hands in dismay, for Eppy had 
started off again. 

“ Here I am rattling off a lot of nonsense,” she 
gurgled, “ but I do enjoy your talking so much, Mr. 
Bums. I vow I could listen to it all day. I shall 
always remember this happy occasion of our meet- 
ing.” She stopped, out of breath, panting but 
happy. 

Robert regarded her quizzically for a moment 
while an audible titter was heard throughout the 
rooms. “ You quite overwhelm me. Miss McKay,” 
he drawled at last. ‘‘ But I have nevertheless en- 
joyed conversing with you. Really, madam, I felt 
quite eloquent and did myself full justice,” and he 
bowed gravely. 

‘‘ Oh, you flatterer ! ” tittered Eppy, slapping his 
arm coquettishly with her fan. “ But I am not 
madam yet.” She ventured a quick look at Sir 
William. 

“ Robert, I have been requested to ask you to 
recite one of your favorite poems; will you honor 
us.f*” asked Lord Glencairn, coming forward. 


HIGHLAND MARY 203 

At once there was a chorus of inanely polite voices. 
“ Oh, do recite, Mr. Burns ! ” “ Please give us ‘ Tam 
O’Shanter’s Ride,’ ” etc., etc. 

Robert slowly looked around him at the sea of 
faces, and suddenly a feeling of resentment filled his 
heart. Must he parade himself before these empty- 
headed noodles, who regarded him in the light of a 
curiosity, a plaything, to amuse them by his antics.^ 
Why didn’t they ask Mr. Mackenzie or Mr. Sterne or 
Dr. Blacklock, Mr. Ramsay, or any one of the others 
to read from their books? 

‘‘ I must ask ye to excuse me to-night,” he replied 
coldly. ‘‘ I have been speaking in the open air and 
my voice is tired.” 

“ Then I will recite in your stead,” cried Eppy, 
determined to make an impression on the romantic 
young farmer. 

They crowded around her, laughing and joking, 
for poor Eppy was the innocent, unsuspecting butt 
of society. 

What is your selection ? ” someone asked 
seriously. 

’Tis about the cunning little animal Mr. Burns 
saw on the lady’s bonnet,” replied Eppy. “ The 

lady’s name was — er ” She paused and looked 

inquiringly into Robert’s grimly amused face. 

“ Ye would be very much surprised, perhaps 
shocked and grieved. Miss McKay,” he answered, 
were I to mention the lady’s name here, so I’ll spare 


204 HIGHLAND MARY 

your feelings. Please recite the poem.” Eppy 
made a deep courtesy, blissfully unconscious that the 
lady in question was none else than herself. And 
after arranging her dress to her satisfaction, cleared 
her throat affectedly and made several ineflPectual at- 
tempts to begin the recitation. Gradually a look of 
comical despair puckered up her face, and turning to 
Robert with an embarrassed giggle, she exclaimed 
poutingly, “ I cannot recall a single line. How pro- 
voking, and I protest. I knew every line by rote this 
morning. Please start me on the first verse, Mr. 
Bums.” 

The spectacle of this silly old woman making a 
fool of herself before that heartless crowd both an- 
noyed and embarrassed Robert. ‘‘ The last verse is 
my favorite,” he replied, frowning angrily at the 
amused titters which reached his ears from all sides, 
and quickly he read the verse through: 

“Oh wad some power the giftie gie us 
To see ourselves as others see us. 

It wad fra many a blunder free us, and foolish notion 
What airs in dress and gait wad leave us, and e’en devotion.” 

And none knew whether the shaft was pointed at 
them or at the object of their mirth, who stood before 
him with clasped hands and a smile meant to be 
winning on her weak face, listening with all her 
senses. 

“ How true that is,” murmured Lady Glencairn. 

‘‘ Yes, indeed,” sighed Eppy soulfully. “ What 


HIGHLAND MARY 205 

fools some people make of themselves, and they never 
know it, which is the funny part of it.” She darted 
a quick glance at Lady Glencairn, who returned the 
look calmly and evenly, although she was saying to 
herself, ‘‘ Is she the fool she appears, or is she giving 
me a dig, I wonder.? ” 

She turned to Robert. “ Mr. Burns, will you find 
me a chair, please; I am rather fatigued, standing 
so long.” 

He offered her his arm. “ It will be rather a 
difficult matter,” he observed, looking about him 
vainly. “ Still, I can try.” And he moved through 
the swaying crowd and out upon the balcony, with 
her little gloved hand resting lightly on his coat 
sleeve. 

“ I saw you this morning, Mr. Bums, on Calton 
Hill,” she observed lightly, “ but at a distance. 
Upon driving nearer I lost sight of you; you must 
have vanished into the air.” 

“ Not at all,” replied Robert, sitting beside her 
on the low balustrade. “ I found a beautiful soli- 
tude amongst a luxuriant growth of willows, which 
no doubt you overlooked.” 

“ To be sure,” she returned. “Now I remember. 
A sad scene occurred there a few years ago; a lady 
from Loch Carron drowned herself in the little pond 
they hang over, because the man she loved despised 
her.” Her voice was soft and low. She drooped 
her eyes and sighed. 


206 HIGHLAND MARY 


“ Poor unhappy woman,” sighed Robert sym- 
pathetically. 

She looked at him quickly, her face flushing, her 
eyes earnestly searching his face. “ Then you would 
have pitied her.? ” she asked almost breathlessly. 

“ He cannot be a man who would not pity a woman 
under such circumstances,” he replied simply and 
thoughtfully. 

‘‘ She loved him devotedly, recklessly,” she con- 
tinued, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion ; 
“ but she had no moral right to do so,” she con- 
tinued. “ She was a wife, a miserable, unhappy 
wife; she deserved much pity, but he was pitiless 
and uncharitable. He despised her weakness, and so 
— she drowned herself.” Her voice sank into a 
strained, unnatural whisper. 

“ Poor unhappy woman ! ” he repeated compas- 
sionately. “ She was over-hasty, I fear.” 

“ You would not have consigned her to such a 
fate, would you.? ” she faltered, laying her soft 
feverish hand on his. 

He started violently and was silent for a time. 
Then, slowly, sorrowfully he turned and looked into 
her tell-tale face; for a moment she gazed at him, 
her eyes glittering with an unholy light, her bosom 
heaving tumultuously. Then she slowly drooped her 
head. 

“ ’Twould be a heavy load to have on one’s con- 
science,” he replied constrainedly. 


HIGHLAND MARY 207 

He rose from his seat and stood looking thought- 
fully across to where Endinburgh castle loomed up on 
the hill, so cold and gloomy, outlined against the 
blue sky. 

She glided swiftly to his side. “ Robert, let 

me ” she began passionately, when the cold 

voice of Sir William Creech rooted her to the spot 
in terror. Out of the shadow walked her uncle, and 
ignoring her presence he addressed himself to Robert. 

“ Well, Mr. Burns ! ” he said angrily, “ perhaps 
ye’ll condescend to notice me now, your publisher, 
Sir William Creech.” 

“ I hope ye’re well,” returned Robert indifferently. 

Sir William quivered with rage. ‘‘ Ye’ve been in 
town a week, and yet ye have not called to notify me 
of your arrival,” he sputtered. 

I quite forgot. Sir William,” answered Rob re- 
pentently ; “ you see I’m not a good business man. 
However, to-morrow I will call and we will arrange 
our much neglected business matters.” 

“ And there is much to arrange. Why did ye 
refuse to write for my weekly.? I offered to pay ye 
well for it,” he snarled. 

“ Pay ! ” flashed Rob indignantly. “ Do you think 
to buy the fruit of my brain like so much merchan- 
dise, at so much a line for a penny newspaper.? I 
am not a penny journalist, I am a poet. Whenever 
I embark on any undertaking it is with honest en- 
thusiasm, and to talk of money, wage, or fee would 


208 HIGHLAND MARY 


be a downright prostitution of the soul,” and his 
eyes flashed dangerously. 

“ You do not despise money, Robert Burns.? ” re- 
torted Sir William sarcastically. 

‘‘ Most certainly not ! ” replied Robert quickly. 
“ ’Tis a most necessary commodity, but extremely 
elusive, and to show you that money has no terrors 
for me, I shall expect a settlement to-morrow in full. 
Some £300 are due me from the sale of the last 
edition of my songs.” He returned Sir William’s 
wrathful gaze, his eyes full of righteous anger and 
strong determination. 

“ Just one word more, Mr. Burns ! ” he began 
belligerently, but Robert raised his hand with a 
stately gesture. 

“ I’m in a sorry mood for business. Sir William 
Creech,” he warned him, a steely glitter in his eye. 

“ Well, ye will hear what I’ve to say,” insisted Sir 
William doggedly. “Ye are under contract to me, 
sir; but instead of living up to the terms of that 
agreement, ye are scattering broadcast to every per- 
son that pleases your fancy, a song or an ode or a 
poem, which diminishes the worth and consequent 
sale of your collection.” 

“ Lud, uncle,” interposed Lady Glencairn quickly, 
“ I’ll warrant it makes not the slightest difference.” 

“ ’Tis not fair to me,” sputtered Sir William, 
“ and I warn ye, Mr. Bums, ye must not do it again. 
I strictly forbid it.” 


HIGHLAND MARY 209 

“ Uncle ! ” gasped Lady Glencairn in amazement. 

“Ye forbid.'^” repeated Robert in immeasurable 
scorn. “Ye nor any man living can dictate to Rob- 
ert Burns. I shall write when an’ for whom I please. 
I will not barter an’ sell my soul like so much mer- 
chandise. You published my collection of songs an’ 
have made money out o’ the transaction, which is 
mair than I have done. I am sick of it all ; I am 
done with your roguery, your deceit, now an’ for- 
ever.” And he waved his hand in angry dismissal. 

“ But our contract,” gasped Sir William, taken 
aback. 

“ ’Tis ended now, canceled by your ain insult, an’ 
I shall take means to collect my just dues.” 

“ Are you not hasty ? ” asked Lady Glencairn 
concernedly. 

“ I told ye to call to-morrow,” snarled Sir William, 
“ and I’ll pay ye, then ye can gang your own gait. 
I have sought to give you advice, but ye were too 
haughty and independent, and ye wouldn’t listen, 
but ye will yet see and realize the bitter truth of 
my words, so go on in your career of folly and its 
inevitable ruin, for ye’ll soon be at the end of your 
tether, and may the devil claim ye for his own.” 
He stalked angrily away, muttering to himself, “Ye 
upstart, ye low-bom peasant. I’ll humble ye yet ! ” 

Robert turned to Lady Glencairn with a smile of 
apology on his lips. “ I ask your pardon. Lady 
Glencairn,” he said humbly, “ for being the cause of 


210 HIGHLAND MARY 


this unseemly scene in your presence, but my anger 
was aroused, an’ I simply couldna’ help speaking my 
thoughts — I am always doing the wrong thing.” 

“ Oh, nonsense ! ” she responded laughingly. Let 
us forget it and join the others.” She took his arm 
and they slowly entered the ballroom, where they 
were speedily joined by Lord Glencairn and a party 
of friends, who immediately surrounded them. 

“ My dear,” said Lord Glencairn, “ do you know 
that you have left us an unconscionable time.? Is 
there some witchery about yon balcony that I know 
not of? ” and he smiled affectionately upon his wife, 
whose eyes were shining with happiness. 

‘‘Your pardon, James, but I’m sure our absence 
was not noted in such a distinguished assemblage.” 
She glanced carelessly about the room at the groups 
of sedate-looking people gravely conversing with each 
other while they strolled slowly, aimlessly about with 
much dignity and ceremony, and an almost imper- 
ceptible sneer curled her full lips. “ Oh, the stiff 
formality of some of these Calvinistic old fossils!” 
she remarked contemptuously to Robert. 

“ From all such people, good Lord deliver us,” 
he replied in a low chant. 

“ Amen ! ” cried Eppy, looking archly at Sir 
William. “ Give me youth and gayety always.” 
Sir William looked his unspoken scorn. 

“ You and I may well sigh for youth. Miss Mc- 
Kay,” quavered the venerable Dr. Blacklock. “ Many 


HIGHLAND MARY 211 

moons have passed since he eluded our clutch and 
fled, never to return,” and he sighed dismally. 

“ Speak for yourself. Doctor,” bridled Eppy. “ I 
shall never let go my hold on youth,” and she tossed 
her head indignantly. 

“ Speaking of fossils,” said Lady Glencairn point- 
edly, turning to Eppy, “ I wonder what can have 
happened to Mrs. Dunlop ? ” 

“ Oh, she is always late for effect,” she rephed 
spitefully. 

“ Mrs. Dunlop is a very dear friend of mine,” 
observed Robert quietly, but his eyes flashed with 
indignation. 

“ I beg your pardon for my rudeness,” murmured 
Lady Glencairn sweetly. 

“ I understand Mrs. Dunlop is chaperoning a new 
beauty,” said Lord Glencairn inquiringly to his 
wife. 

She gave him a side glance that was far from 
pleasant. New beauty, indeed! There was only one 
recognized beauty in Edinburgh and she would not 
yield the palm to anyone. “ I really do not know to 
whom you allude, James,” she said coldly. 

The Duchess of Athol, who was standing near, 
smiled significantly. ‘‘ Mrs. Dunlop asked permis- 
sion to bring a young friend, who was visiting her 
from the Highlands,” she remarked pleasantly. “ I 
do not know her in the least, and they may not come 
at all.” 


212 HIGHLAND MARY 

“ Mrs. Dunlop and Miss Campbell ! ” announced 
the footman loudly. With a smile on his handsome 
face and a hurried word of apology, Robert rapidly 
walked to meet the approaching couple, who were 
the cynosure of all eyes. Mrs. Dunlop was recog- 
nized by all as a woman of much importance in Edin- 
burgh society. She knew everybody and everybody 
knew her, for she was the lineal descendant of the im- 
mortal Wallace, a fact of which she was justly proud. 
She was a motherly looking woman, with a charming 
smile and a pleasant, taking manner. 

But the murmur of admiration throughout the 
room was not for her ; it was for the slim little girl in 
white with the blue eyes and fair hair, which glittered 
like gold beneath the brilliant light of the chande- 
liers. “ Who can she be.?^ ” they whispered to each 
other in wonder. ‘‘ Evidently not a person of im- 
portance, else she would be dressed in the fashion of 
the day and have her hair powdered.” 

“ At last, Mary, ye’re here ! ” cried Robert de- 
lightedly, placing her hand within his arm. She 
clung to it with a nervous clutch. 

“ The child is frightened to death,” whispered 
Mrs. Dunlop, smiling indulgently. 

Lady Glencairn turned very pale, as she recognized 
the girl she had met in Robert’s room. She trem- 
bled and could scarcely regain her usual composure 
as Robert with a proud tenderness lighting up the 
depths of his black eyes, led the vision of youth and 



** ‘Mrs. Dunlop and Miss Campbell/ announced the footman loudly.” 





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HIGHLAND MARY 213 

perfect beauty up to the hostess, to whom he intro- 
duced Mary. Then he turned to Lady Glencairn. 
‘‘ Lady Glencairn, allow me to introduce to you Miss 
Campbell. You remember Highland Mary, do you 
not ? ” 

She gave a slight start and her muscles tightened. 
The dairymaid sweetheart here in Edinburgh she 
thought in amazement. What could it mean.?^ 

‘‘ Quite well,” she answered, extending her cold 
jeweled hand. ‘‘ I little dreamed I should ever meet 
you here like this, but the imexpected always 
happens.” 

“ Dinna’ ye mind, my lady,” replied Mary simply, 
‘‘ ye said ye would be glad to see me whenever I came 
to town.” She raised those marvelous, innocent eyes 
of hers and smiled. Why did Lady Glencairn 
shrink from that frank and childlike openness of 
regard? Why did she for one brief moment feel 
herself to be vile and beneath contempt? She 
turned to where Mrs. Dunlop was conversing animat- 
edly with their hostess, a flush akin to shame mantling 
her haughty face. 

“ My dear Duchess,” she was saying apologetic- 
ally, “ pray pardon our late arrival, but I assure you 
’tis not made for effect; our carriage broke down on 
the way.” 

Eppy started in amazement ; had she overheard her 
spiteful remark? 

The Duchess graciously inclined her stately 


214 HIGHLAND MARY 


head. “ So glad you got here at all, Mrs. Dunlop,” 
she said. 

Robert turned laughingly to the group of eager 
people importuning him for an introduction to the 
beautiful debutante. “ Time forbids my introducing 
ye individually to Miss Campbell,” he said good- 
naturedly, “ therefore let me present ye collectively 
to Highland Mary, my future wife, whom ye have 
all read of an’ loved in my poems.” A ripple of 
applause greeted the news, and congratulations 
poured in upon them, both hearty and sincere. 

Lady Glencairn staggered slightly, her face pal- 
ing, but she quickly recovered and stood haughtily 
erect, fanning herself a little more rapidly, her full 
red lips tightened to a thin malicious line. 

Eppy rushed up to Mary effusively. “ May I 
kiss you, dear ? ” she asked gushingly, “ you are so 
sweet and pretty, just like I was a few years ago,” 
and she kissed the blushing girl with a resounding 
smack. “ You’ll be married in Edinburgh, I pre- 
sume? ” she continued volubly. “ I must attend the 
wedding.” 

“ The marriage will be most private, madam,” 
observed Robert coldly. 

“ Do you stay long in Edinburgh, Miss Camp- 
bell? ” asked Lady Glencairn abruptly, forcing a 
smile to her lips, 

“ No, not long, your ladyship,” replied Mary 
timidly. The cold metallic tones of the haughty 


HIGHLAND MARY 215 

lady frightened her strangely. “ I — I ne’er thought 

I’d e’er come to Edinburgh,” she said, •‘but ” 

She hesitated and looked shyly at Robert, and then 
looked modestly down at the bit of cobweb lace which 
she held in her hand and which did duty as a ’ker- 
chief. 

“ But I found the barrier between us was down, 
that I was free as ever to wed the sweetheart of my 
boyhood days,” he explained with simple dignity. 

“ Aye, but you make a bonnie couple,” exclaimed 
Mrs. Dunlop admiringly. “ Well, I don’t blame 
anyone for falling in love with you, Robert,” she 
declared frankly. “You’re a great man,” and she 
nodded her head vigorously. “ And a handsome one, 
too.” 

Robert blushed and shook his finger in warning at 
his old friend, although a tender smile played around 
his eyes and mouth. “ Mrs. Dunlop, men are said to 
flatter women because they are weak,” he said, “ but if 
it is so, poets must be weaker still, for the artful com- 
pliments I have received from your sex have abso- 
lutely turned my head, an’ really I begin to look on 
myself as a person of no small importance,” and he 
rougishly winked his eye at his old f riend. 

“ I never knew a man yet who was averse to flat- 
tery,” retorted the old lady good-naturedly. 

In the brief luU that followed the general laugh, 
the voice of Lord Glencairn could be heard in con- 
versation with Mary, who was earnestly gazing up 


216 HIGHLAND MARY 


into his face, all traces of timidity gone, for she felt 
singularly at her ease in the presence of the kindly 
old nobleman. “ And so you mean to take Robert 
away from us for good, eh.?^ ” he was saying in his 
earnest, serious manner. 

“Ye ken he is fair anxious to get back to Moss- 
giel now,” replied Mary, blushing deeply. 

Lady Glencairn snapped her fan together convul- 
sively. “ You mean to leave Edinburgh for good.^ ” 
she asked in faint, incredulous accents, turning to 
Robert. 

The people crowded around and a storm of pro- 
test arose. “ What madness ! ” “ Leave Edinburgh 
for the country!” “They couldn’t hear of such a 
thing.” “ He owed a duty to them as Scotland’s 
Bard!” etc., etc. 

Robert turned to them and spoke lightly, although 
with an undercurrent of seriousness. “ I ken I am 
but wasting my time, my energies, my talents here, 
amid the sensual delight which your city affords,” 
he said. “ I am not formed for it. I am but a 
rustic at heart and in manners, and the country is 
my only vantageground.” 

Mary stole softly to his side and snuggled her 
hand in his. “ Isn’t it sweet to be in love.f* ” cried 
Eppy cooingly, to Sir William, in a sibilant aside. 
“ Think what we are missing.” 

“ We’re too old for such nonsense,” replied Sir 
William gruffly. 


HIGHLAND MARY 217 

“ Oh, indeed ! ” flashed Eppy. “ Huh, a woman’s 
never too old to love,” with an indignant toss of her 
head. 

“ No, nor to make a fool of herself,” retorted Sir 
William, smiling grimly. 

“ But we cannot give you up just yet,” declared 
Lord Glencairn emphatically, placing his hand af- 
fectionately on Robert’s shoulder. 

“ I am sure, Mr. Burns,” said Mr. Mackenzie 
gravely, “ that your friends and admirers would not 
advise such a move for you, especially as you are 
now rid’ng high on the top wave of success.” 

“ I have nothing to gain by staying here, Mr. 
Mackenzie,” replied Robert, turning to him and 
speaking slowly and thoughtfully, “ for, as you ob- 
serve, I am now firmly established as a poet. I fear 
I am not proof against the subtle temptations which 
constantly beset my path and which push aside all 
thoughts of poesy ; so as discretion is the better part 
of valor,” he continued, looking lovingly at the girl 
clinging so confidingly to his arm, I shall flee from 
it all to my farm, my plow, and there amid those 
innocent, wholesome surroundings pass my remaining 
days in peace wi’ my wife by my side.” 

Mrs. Dunlop sighed dismally and shook her white 
curls in decided disapproval. ‘‘ Laddie, you will be 
taking a false step,” she declared emphatically; 
your place is here before the public.” 

“ Indeed it is ! ” gurgled Eppy soulfully. “ I 


218 HIGHLAND MARY 


protest Edinburgh cannot spare its poet yet. Your 
old farm can wait for you yet a while.” 

Mary looked at his thoughtful face with anxious 
eyes. She prayed fervently that nothing would dis- 
suade him from his purpose. For it had been at 
her earnest solicitation that he finally decided to 
give up the enervating pleasures of the Capital, and 
to retire to the country where he would be free from 
the contaminating influences which now surrounded 
him. 

He smiled reassuringly into her perturbed little 
face. No power on earth could tempt him to break 
the promise he had so willingly made her on that 
first day of her arrival in the gay metropolis, he 
thought fondly. He turned to his questioners, who 
were eagerly awaiting his answer, his face shining 
with fixed determination. 

“ My friends,” he said quietly, “ I am only a 
farmer born, a son of the soil. My one ambition 
now is to have my own roof-tree near the Boon, 
where amidst the beauties of harmonious nature the 
Goddess Muse will commune with me as of old, for 
’twas there the greatest inspiration of my soul came 
to me, and I know if all else fails me an independent 
livelihood awaits me at the plowtail.” 

“Tut, tut, the plowtail, indeed!” sniffed Mrs. 
Dunlop indignantly. 

Lady Glencairn, who had been feverishly toying 
with her fan, turned suddenly to Mary, a sneering 


HIGHLAND MARY 219 

smile on her crimson lips, “ And have you no higher 
ambition for your future husband, Miss Campbell? ” 
she demanded, her voice strangely harsh and me- 
tallic. “ Are you content to have him bury his tal- 
ents in the country? ” 

“Yes! Oh, yes!” answered Mary shyly, a happy 
smile dimpling her sweet face. Then she added 
naively, “Ye ken. I’ll hae him all to myself then.” 
Robert laughed merrily at this naive confession. 

“ Young man,” observed Mr. Sterne pompously, 
“ take my word for it, you’ll repent it if you leave 
Edinburgh now.” 

“Robbie, what will everybody think? ” cried Mrs. 
Dunlop tearfully. “ You are daft to run away while 
the world is literally at your feet.” 

“ For how long? ” he asked laconically. 

“ Until you tire of its homage, my lad,” replied 
Lord Glencairn stanchly. 

Robert shook his head with a doubting smile. 
“ ’Twill not be I who will tire first, my lord,” he 
returned quietly. “ I know myself and the world so 
well. You see the novelty of a poet in my obscure 
situation, my imperfection of awkward rusticity has 
raised a partial tide of public notice which has borne 
me to a height where I am absolutely certain my 
abilities are inadequate to support me.” He looked 
around a trifle defiantly at the rows of serious 
faces, a little feeling of resentment welling up in his 
heart. 


220 HIGHLAND MARY 


You are over-modest, my dear Burns,” observed 
Mr. Mackenzie with kindling eye. 

Robert shook his head with somber dignity. “ Too 
surely do I see the time when the same tide will leave 
me and recede as far below the mark of truth.” He 
turned and faced the people suddenly, his hands out- 
stretched, his eyes filled with melancholy enthusiasm. 
Raising his voice he proceeded prophetically, ‘‘ My 
friends, you will all bear me witness, that when the 
bubble of fame was at its height I stood unintoxi- 
cated, with the inebriating cup in my hand, looking 
forward to the hastening time when the blow of 
calumny should dash it to the ground with all the 
eagerness of revengeful triumph.” 

That time will never come, Robert,” cried Mary 
softly, “ for we will leave this life behind us in a 
very short while noo.” 

Lord Glencairn slapped him on the back with 
playful earnestness. “ Come, come, my lad ! ” he 
cried gayly, “ this will never do ; you are in the 
dumps; throw it off, lad, and be merry. Do not 
heed the idle gossip of your unsuccessful rivals and 
the scandal mongers. Rest assured your popularity 
and fame will never die whether you remain here 
or retire to the country.” 

Would I could think so,” sighed Robert gloomily. 

Eppy suddenly gave a nervous little giggle. I 
vow I feel like crying,” she observed hysterically, 
“ I wish everybody wouldn’t look so mournful.” 


HIGHLAND MARY 221 

Mr. Mackenzie turned quickly to his hostess. 
“ My dear Duchess,” he said courteously, “ you 
were going to show us your new painting in 
which Mr. Burns is the central figure of the 
group.” 

At once the silent group became animated. “ Oh, 
yes, do ! ” cried Eppy, with a yearning look at 
Robert. ‘‘ I wonder if I could pick you from among 
the others P ” she coyly observed. 

I trust, madam, that my phiz will be recogniz- 
able,” he replied dryly. 

The Duchess turned to her husband. “ Take Miss 
Campbell and lead the way to the gallery,” she said 
quickly. 

“Is Mr. Burns to take me.^^ ” inquired Eppy of 
her hostess, but she had followed her husband, lean- 
ing on the arm of Mr. Mackenzie. 

Lady Glencairn smiled sweetly, “ So sorry. Miss 
McKay, but Sir William has asked for that pleas- 
ure.” 

“ I? ” gasped Sir William, with a comical look of 
dismay. 

She looked at him maliciously. “ Yes, did you 
not ? ” she raised her eyebrows inquiringly, an in- 
nocent smile hovering about her mouth. 

For a moment he sputtered, then with a grim 
smile he snarled sarcastically, “ ’Twill afford me 
great pleasure.” 

With a wildly beating heart Lady Glencairn took 


222 HIGHLAND MARY 


Robert’s arm and started for the stairs, followed 
by the others. 

Eppy sniffed suspiciously. “ Oh, I understand 
now,” she observed spitefully with a meaning smile. 

“ I thought you would, dear,” flashed her lady- 
ship mockingly, over her shoulder. 

Are you coming, madam ” demanded Sir Wil- 
liam testily, offering his arm. 

With an indignant clack of her tongue, Eppy 
haughtily brushed past him and swiftly mounted the 
stairs, leaving the disgruntled Sir Wilham to follow 
at his leisure. 


CHAPTER XVI 


Among those that crowded around the carriage of 
Robert Burns earlier in the evening, listening to 
his inspiring oration, stood a girl of twenty or 
thereabouts, whose pale, haggard face and tearful 
eyes attracted some passing attention from those 
near her. She was dressed in an ankle length skirt 
of gray, over which a red shawl had been tastefully 
draped. A black velvet bodice confined the loose 
white gimpe at the waist, while from her left shoul- 
der a brilliant plaid hung gracefully to the bottom 
of her dress. Around her neck row upon row of 
different colored beads hung loosely to her waist. 
Upon the blue-black hair which fell around her 
face in waving masses, a wreath of white and pink 
heather was twined becomingly. Her unusual attire 
attracted much attention. 

She must be a gypsy,” they told each other 
wonderingly. Finally, after many conjectures, some- 
one in the crowd volunteered the information that 
she was a street singer who had been seen sing- 
ing through the streets of the town for a day or so. 
Their curiosity appeased, they turned to their idol 
once more. Every now and then a convulsive sob 
shook the young girl’s slender, graceful figure. Like 
one who hungered for food and drink she watched the 
223 


224 HIGHLAND MARY 


speaker, her heart in her eyes, her hands clasped 
tightly upon her breast. When the eager throng un- 
hitched the horses from the open carriage she had 
breathlessly watched every movement, and when they, 
with wild bursts of applause and good-natured 
laughter, sped away up Princes Street, pulling the 
carriage behind them, she had swiftly followed, the 
center of a noisy gang of street urchins and idle 
brawlers. 

With a mighty cheer, which brought the watch- 
men running to the spot pell-mell, they finally 
stopped at Athol Castle and quickly lined themselves 
on each side of the striped awning avenue, from the 
curbing to the door, to watch the great man pass 
within. 

The gypsy frantically elbowed her way through 
the pompous coachmen and good-natured cabbies 
who had pressed forward to witness the new arrival, 
and reached the inner edge of the crowd. At that 
moment Robert stepped from his carriage and walked 
quickly up the avenue. With a little cry of joy she 
stretched out her hands to arrest his attention, but 
he passed inside without having once caught a 
glimpse of this strange follower. 

A derisive laugh went up from those who had 
curiously watched the peculiar actions of the gypsy. 
At the sound she dropped her arms hurriedly, the 
blood rushing to her pale cheeks. With one quick, 
startled glance at the mocking faces beside her, she 


HIGHLAND MARY 225 

turned quickly and threaded her way through the 
line of splendid equipages, with their prancing horses, 
till she reached a secluded part of the street, where 
she stopped and looked back at the brilliantly lighted 
castle, tears of bitter disappointment and despair 
slowly trickling down her wan cheeks. As she stood 
there in the bright moonlight, a prey to her bitter 
thoughts, a handsome equipage, drawn by a prancing 
pair of steeds, attracted her listless attention. As 
it slowly drove past the wretched girl a sweet young 
face crowned with golden hair appeared in the open 
window, followed by a white arm. Her little hand 
was noticeably bare of jewels. With a sweet word of 
pity the girl tossed a silver piece at the feet of 
her unfortunate sister. The gypsy indifferently 
watched the carriage out of sight. Then, after a 
moment’s hesitation, she stooped and picked up the 
coin, and without looking at it put it carelessly in 
her pocket, a flush of shame and mortification man- 
tling her dark cheek. For a while she stood in moody 
silence, listening to the strains of music which came 
faintly to her from the castle. Suddenly she lifted 
her face to the heavens, her arms upraised, her lips 
moving in some prayer or incantation. For a mo- 
ment she stood thus, then slowly her arms dropped to 
her side. There was a new calm look of determination 
in her face as she quickly traced her steps back to 
where the crowds still lingered about the closed doors 
of Athol Castle. She stood on the outskirts of 


226 HIGHLAND MARY 


the crowd unseen in the shadow, her restless eyes 
searching here and there, peering into the open win- 
dows, up and down the high stone wall which bor- 
dered the huge garden, then back again, finally 
resting upon the closed portals with a look of keen 
disappointment shining in their depths. What she 
sought was evidently not there. She stamped her 
foot in impotent despair, a muttered imprecation 
on her lips ; she would search again. Gradually she 
made her way back unnoticed by the crowd, who 
were intent on listening to the music which floated 
out bewitchingly on the still air, till she reached 
the wall where it joined the corner of the castle. 
Motionless she stood under its shadow, her heart 
beating loudly as some idler drew near her place of 
concealment. Suddenly a form loomed up before 
her. With a startled cry she pressed close against 
the ivied wall in sudden terror. 

She come this way,” a voice cried eagerly. 

“ Aye, Sandy, she’s hidin’ among the ivy,” said 
another. 

She heard them beating noisily about the thick 
vines which hung in wild profusion over the walls, 
her heart in her mouth. Frantically she tore the 
vines apart until she reached the bare wall behind. 
Then with breathless eagerness she pulled then to- 
gether again, effectually concealing her presence 
from her pursuers. She pressed closer and closer 
against the cold stones, shivering apprehensively 
as they approached her hiding place. Suddenly she 


HIGHLAND MARY 227 

felt her support give way with a dull, creaking noise, 
and before she could recover her equilibrium, she 
found herself in a heap on the ground. She looked 
up in time to see the door through which she had 
fallen swing quickly into place and realized that 
unwittingly she had found an old and evidently 
unused entrance through the wall. Quickly rising 
to her feet she looked about her, then she gave a 
little cry of joy as she caught sight of the splash- 
ing fountains in the moonlight, for she knew she was 
inside the gardens belonging to the Duke of Athol. 
Eagerly she gazed about her at the leafy shrub- 
beries, the massive oaks and beeches, the rose garden 
with its wealth of scented flowers. And for a brief 
moment she gave herself up to the painful reveries 
the familiar sights recalled to memory, while the tears 
of self-pity and heart-longing welled up in her 
gloomy eyes and flowed unrestrainedly down her 
cheeks. Presently, with a mirthless laugh of impa- 
tience, she dashed the tears angrily away and walked 
quickly up the grassy terrace toward the brilliantly 
lighted castle. Through the large window which 
looked over the low balcony she watched the inces- 
sant stream of people coming and going, while others 
walked aimlessly about the rooms or chatted in 
groups. For some time she crouched beside the 
low silver spruce, her eyes fixed upon the moving 
scenes within. Then with a start she recognized the 
golden-haired young lady who had given her the 
silver piece, surrounded by a group of cavaliers. She 


228 HIGHLAND MARY 

saw, too, with a pang of jealousy, the tenderness 
with which the poet greeted her and led her up to 
the haughty lady in purple. For some time she 
watched them in melancholy silence, a prey to con- 
flicting emotions. By and by a group of ladies 
drifted out on the balcony. They were discussing 
the golden-haired girl, who had been Introduced into 
their midst that evening, and the announcement of 
her marriage to the poet, Robert Burns. The gypsy, 
as she heard those words, uttered a smothered cry 
of amazement and horror, then sank half fainting 
on the grassy lawn, moaning like one stricken unto 
death. How long she lay there with senses dulled 
by pain she never knew. Presently, bitter recollec- 
tion returned and with it an agony of fear that 
blanched her lips and made her limbs to quake, while 
grief and despair, like two grim sentinels, stood 
eager watch beside her. Slowly she staggered to 
her feet and turned her weary eyes once more upon 
the balcony. There was no one there. Listlessly 
she watched the gay figures darting past the win- 
dows. Suddenly her muscles tightened like a hound’s 
on the scent. The golden-haired girl suddenly glided 
out on the balcony, a glorious vision of loveliness. 
Pensively she leaned over the railing watching the 
swans, which looked ghostly in the moonlight, swim- 
ming majestically round and round the small pond 
of water into which the spraying fountain was 
playing. 


CHAPTER XVII 


Mary soon grew weary of looking at the many paint- 
ings which lined the walls of the galleries ; she wished 
they would go back to the pretty rooms downstairs, 
where the music was playing and the young folks were 
dancing. She had enjoyed that. She tried to force a 
smile of interest to her lips as the old Duke described 
the subjects on the canvases before them. He soon 
perceived her weariness, however, and calling to Mrs. 
Dunlop, who was being bored beyond measure, as 
she told her friends wearily, he requested her to 
show Miss Campbell the gardens by moonlight, to 
which she gladly assented. Quickly they descended 
the broad staircase, and slowly wended their way 
across the large drawing-room. Mrs. Dunlop took 
her young charge to the large window and waved 
her fat hand toward the magnificent view which lay 
stretched before them. “ Isn’t it grand, Mary.? ” she 
observed lightly. It was an old story to her. Spy- 
ing an old friend across the room, she excused her- 
self to Mary and told her to enjoy herself, 
then smilingly left her to her own devices. After 
admiring the somber beauty of Edinburgh Castle, 
Mary perceived the flowing fountain which splashed 
tunefully below her in the garden. She stepped out 


230 HIGHLAND MARY 


on the balcony, a smile of pleasure lighting up her 
sweet face. For a while she stood listening to the 
rhythmic fall of the water, blissfully unconscious of 
the presence of the unseen watcher. Suddenly before 
her startled vision there sprang the form of the 
gypsy. With a cry of alarm Mary stepped back 
and was about to enter the room, when a voice calling 
her by name arrested her wondering attention. 

“Wait, Mary Campbell!” hissed the voice of the 

gypsy- 

Mary turned and looked into the white face gaz- 
ing up at her so defiantly, and she recognized the 
girl to whom she had tossed the money. Suddenly 
she gave a gasp of astonishment. “ Jean Armour! ” 
she exclaimed incredulously. 

“ Aye, Jean Armour,” repeated the gypsy. 
“ Come down to me ; I must have a word with you 
alone,” she whispered sibilantly. 

Mary gave a quick look around. Mrs. Dunlop 
was still deep in her gossip, and Robert was no- 
where to be seen. She walked to the end of the 
balcony and found the steps. Quickly she reached 
the bottom, and going to Jean took her two hands 
in hers and shook them warmly. She was so glad 
to see anyone from Mossgiel, friend or foe. 

Jean regarded her advance with sullen suspicion. 
“ Two years ago I was an invited guest here at Athol 
Castle,” she sneered bitterly, “ while you were a bare- 
footed dairymaid in Mossgiel. Now look at us. You 


HIGHLAND MARY 231 

are the lady and I am an outcast, singing on the 
streets for my daily bread.” 

Mary looked at her in amazement. ‘‘ But what 
has happened.^ ” she asked wonderingly. 

“ My father has turned me into the street,” an- 
swered Jean dully. 

“ Had ye done wrong.? ” inquired Mary timidly. 

Jean laughed mirthlessly. “Wrong.?” she re- 
peated, “ aye, if refusing to marry an old man I 
detested be wrong.” 

“ An’ your father turned ye out for that.? ” 

“ For that,” she replied stonily, “ and because I 
refused to give up Robert Burns.” 

“ But — but ye gave him up long ago, Jean, of 
your own free will,” faltered Mary, an awful fear 
clutching at her heart. “ An’ your father wrote 
Robert,” she continued breathlessly, “ that ye will- 
ingly, gladly renounced all claims on him, that ye 
even hated his name, an’ that ye hoped never to see 
or hear o’ him again.” 

A look of hatred spread over the face of the 
other. “ My father lied when he wrote that,” she 
cried with bitter intensity, “for I told him I would 
never renounce my marriage to Robert, irregular 
though it was, and I never will. He is my husband,” 
and she glared defiantly at the shrinking girl, who 
was looking at her with searching, frightened 
eyes. For a moment the poor child stood there like 
a lifeless figure as the words stamped themselves 


232 HIGHLAND MARY 

one by one on her bewildered brain and sent it reel- 
ing into darkness and vacancy. She felt sick and 
dizzy. There was a rushing sound in her ears, the 
garden swung round dizzily before her eyes, yet 
she stood still, speaking no word, although a quiver 
of agony passed over her pallid face. 

“ Oh, Robert, my love, have I lost ye again ? ” she 
thought dully. “ I knew it was only a dream, too 
sweet to last.” There was a choking sensation in her 
throat, but she did not weep. As in a horrid dream 
she heard the sharp metallic voice hissing in her 
ear, ‘‘ He is my husband, Mary Campbell. You must 
give him up to me.” She roused herself out of 
the lethargy into which she had fallen, and unclasp- 
ing her hands, she wearily pushed back her curls 
from her brow and fixed her large pathetic eyes on 
Jean, who instinctively shrank back before the 
speechless despair of that helpless gaze. “ But ye 
have no claim on Robbie noo, Jean,” she faltered 
slowly, “ since your irregular marriage was pub- 
licly dissolved.” She paused and her pale lips quiv- 
ered. “ Why have ye come here noo to disturb 
him.'*” she asked with infinite pathos. ‘‘He is 
happy, so happy noo. Dinna destroy that happi- 
ness; go awa’; leave him to me. Ye took him 
from me once ; dinna separate us again.” Her voice 
broke and a hard sob choked her utterance. A great 
pity welled up in Jean’s heart for the stricken child, 
but she steeled herself against it and remained sul- 


HIGHLAND MARY 233 

lenly quiet. Presently Mary spoke again. “ I hae 
nothing in this world, Jean, and I love him so,” 
she said with dreamy wistfulness, ‘‘better than life 
itseP. We have loved each ither for years, an’ 
that love has grown stronger an’ stronger as each 
year passed by, till noo it’s part o’ my very being.” 
Her voice rose to passionate pleading. “ Oh, what 
is your weak fancy compared to such a love, Jean 
Armour.? ” she asked piteously. “ Oh, I tell you I 
canna give him up to you again.” She sank down 
convulsively on the high-backed bench under the 
balcony, her form quivering with low heart-breaking 
sobs. Tears of sympathy slowly filled Jean’s eyes 
as she watched the grief -stricken girl before her, but 
with an angry frown she hardened her heart and 
forced herself to think of her own wrongs and piti- 
able condition. 

“ You must give him up ! ” she answered harshly, 
“ and to-night.” She paused a moment to watch 
the brilliant crowd within the drawing-room, passing 
and repassing each other with slow, stately bearing 
as they walked with ease and grace through the 
dignified measures of the minuet. By and by she 
turned to the drooping form and spoke again. “ My 
God, girl, don’t you suppose I too love him ! ” she 
exclaimed passionately. “ Why have I tramped mile 
after mile, half starving, subjected to all kinds of 
insults, struggling to reach here to see him, if it 
were not for that love? ” 


234 HIGHLAND MARY 

Mary slowly raised her head and looked at her in 
reproachful sadness. “ Your love has only brought 
him, an’ all of us, sorrow and disgrace,” she said 
with pathetic simplicity. “ He never loved ye, Jean 
Armour, ye ken that week” 

Jean winced at the blunt truth, and a quiver of 
anger passed over her defiant face. I know that 
only too well,” she replied bitterly. Then she gave 
a little mocking laugh, which nevertheless held a 
suggestion of tears. “ You may have his heart, Mary 
Campbell,” she continued, ‘‘ but I am what you can 
never be, his wife and the mother of his bairns.” 

‘‘ The bairns,” repeated Mary blankly, “ are they 
alive, Jean.f^ ” 

Yes, they are alive, thank God ! ” murmured Jean 
softly, ‘‘ that is why I am here, Mary, that is why 
I must demand my rights, for my bairns’ sake.” 
Then she continued quickly, feverishly, ‘‘ Had it not 
been for them I would have done my father’s bidding, 
would have forgotten Robert, renounced him utterly, 
and married the man my father had chosen for me, 
but I wanted my little ones to have the protection of 
a father’s name, so I stubbornly refused his com- 
mands. After my father had driven me from his 
door with curses on his lips, I discovered too late 
that Robert had tried again and again to see me, 
had even begged my father to allow him to legalize 
our marriage, and that his overtures were met with 
scorn and abuse. Then I decided to come to Edin- 


HIGHLAND MARY 235 

burgh myself to tell Robert the truth and to claim 
my rights.” She paused defiantly. 

Lady Glencairn upon her return to the drawing- 
room had missed Mary, and upon learning from 
Mrs. Dunlop that she was upon the balcony, she 
sauntered slowly in that direction. As she stepped 
through the window she heard the low murmur of 
voices, and looking down perceived with amazement 
the young girl seated below her in company with a 
fantastically-dressed gypsy. Suddenly, with a start, 
she recognized the voice of Jean Armour. Hastily 
concealing herself behind a large marble pillar she 
listened in growing wonder, her face becoming hard 
and repellent, to the direful confession of her god- 
daughter. 

‘‘ I arrived in Edinburgh after a month of hard- 
ships,” continued Jean with suppressed excitement, 
‘‘ and to-night I saw him in all his prosperity enter- 
ing the castle like a king, looking so handsome, so 
contented, and so very happy.” 

“ Yes, he is happy noo,” replied Mary softly. 
‘‘ Happier than he’ll e’er be on earth again, per- 
haps,” and she closed her eyes wearily. 

For a moment there was silence, broken only by 
the monotonous hum of voices and the faint twang- 
ing of the harp from within the drawing-room. Pres- 
ently Mary opened her eyes and spoke again. 

“Ye maunna blame Robert for anything at a’, 
Jean,” she said loyally. “ He thought the bairns were 


236 HIGHLAND MARY 


dead, an’ he believed your father’s words, but noo, 
when he kens a’, he will do his duty nobly for his 
bairns’ sake.” She smiled bravely into the eager 
face of the other. “Ye have the right to him, Jean, 
I see that noo,” she continued sadly, “ an’ — an’ for- 
give my rude and unkind words to ye just noo,” 
and gently she held out her little hand. 

Jean took it tenderly in her own. “ What will 
you do now, where will you go ? ” she asked with a 
feeling of remorse. 

“ I shall go back to Colonel Montgomery’s,” replied 
Mary, in a sad, spiritless voice, from which all 
the life seemed to have fled, “ where I can see 
my friends sometimes. Mistress Burns loves me, an’ 
I — I may see Robbie, if only from the window as 
he passes. It willna harm anyone.” She looked at 
Jean in a pleading, timid manner, while her mouth 
quivered pathetically, but she forced a wan smile 
to her pale lips and then slowly turned and walked 
toward the stairway. As she mounted the bottom 
step Jean ran quickly to her side and clasped her 
hand impulsively. 

“ Mary, I’m so sorry for you,” she said pityingly, 
“but I’m doing it for my bairns’ sake, ye ken 
that.” 

“ I understand, J ean,” answered Mary simply, “ I 
dinna blame ye.” She leaned back against the mar- 
ble balustrade. “ But, oh, it’s hard, bitter hard,” she 
murmured brokenly ; “ if I could only die here and 


HIGHLAND MARY 237 

noo.” She stretched out her hands with a sort of 
wild appeal. ‘‘ Oh, Robbie, my darlin’,” she ex- 
claimed in a sobbing whisper, how can I tell ye, 
how can I break your heart? I thought ye had 
drunk your cup o’ misery empty, but the dregs are 
yet to be drained.” 

The sympathetic tears rolled down Jean’s face. 
“ Will you tell him I’m here, Mary, and that I must 
see him at once? ” she asked pleadingly. Mary 
slowly bowed her head in assent. Oh, how I dread 
to meet him,” continued Jean in a frightened whisper, 
“ to have him look at me with stern and angry eyes ; 
to know that he longs to be free, and that he wishes 
me dead, perhaps.” She covered her face with her 
hands and shivered apprehensively. 

“Ye needna fear, Jean,” replied Mary, with re- 
proachful pride. “ Robert Burns is a mon of honor ; 
ye should know that week I’ll go noo an’ tell him 
ye are here.” For a moment she swayed as if about 
to fall, but she recovered herself in an instant and 
slowly mounted the few remaining steps to the bal- 
cony. As she reached the top she pressed her hand 
against her heart as if that action would still its 
rapid beating. “ Heaven give me the strength to tell 
him,” she breathed, and, with a little prayer on her 
lips, she slowly entered the drawing-room, where she 
found Mrs. Dunlop anxiously looking for her. 

Jean watched her for a few moments, then, with 
a sigh of nervous dread, she turned and paced rest- 


238 HIGHLAND MARY 


lesslj up and down within the deep shadows be- 
neath the overhanging trees. She had only taken 
one turn when she felt herself seized by the arm and 
drawn into the bright moonlight. Smothering the 
startled cry of alarm which rose to her lips she 
turned and faced her assailant. ‘‘ Lady Glencairn ! ” 
she gasped, starting back in astonishment. 

“ So, Jean Armour,” hissed her ladyship, “ ’tis 
you whose name has been coupled so disgracefully 
with that of Robert Burns.” 

Jean dropped her head quickly, flushing crimson 
before the scornful light in the other’s eyes, which 
flashed like stars in the pale moonlight that came 
streaming down upon them. “ Then you have 
heard ” she faltered, after a little frightened pause. 

“Yes, I have heard everything,” her ladyship re- 
turned witheringly, “ and my suspicions of you of 
two years ago have turned out to be right.” 

“ Please say no more now. Lady Glencairn,” re- 
torted Jean sullenly. “ Let me go.” She tried to 
pass, but Lady Glencairn put a restraining hand 
upon her shoulder. “ I will say no more, you foolish 
girl,” she replied angrily. “ Why do you insist 
upon thrusting yourself upon Robert Burns, to- 
night He utterly detests your memory. He has 
done with you forever.” 

Jean looked at her defiantly. “ I am his wife. He 
must acknowledge me,” she declared firmly. 

Lady Glencairn laughed scornfully. “ You fool- 


HIGHLAND MARY 239 

ish child, do you think he will ever forgive you for 
stepping in between him and Mary Campbell again ? ” 
she asked with studied indifference. “ No, he would 
hate you ; you know his erratic temper, my dear Jean ; 
you would but ruin your chance for a reconciliation 
forever, if he sees you now, when his heart is tom by 
grief and sorrow at losing for the second time the one 
lass who is all the world to him.” She paused and 
watched narrowly the look of dread and doubt creep 
slowly over the downcast face before her. 

By and by Jean looked up, her eyes burning with 
unshed tears and shining feverishly. ‘‘What shall 
I do then. Lady Glencairn .? ” she asked helplessly, 
“ where shall I go ? ” 

Lady Glencairn did not answer for a few mo- 
ments. She was thinking with a thrill of joy that 
Jean’s coming would separate the two lovers forever. 
“ More than likely Robert would now remain in Edin- 
burgh,” she mused with wildly beating heart. “ But, 
on the other hand, if he stayed he would quixotically 
marry Jean Armour, and publicly right her in the 
eyes of the world,” she thought jealously, “ and 
then ” She broke off and stared at the girl in- 

tently. “ If she were out of the way,” she thought 
maliciously, “ might not his fickle fancy be caught in 
the rebound ? ” These thoughts flowed quickly 
through her brain, and her eyes half shut wickedly, 
her gleaming white bosom heaving from her hurried 
breathing, as she decided on her course. “ You must 


240 HIGHLAND MARY 

leave here at once,” she said softly, taking Jean’s 
hand with an affectation of tenderness. 

“ I cannot return to my father,” she replied dully. 
“ I have nowhere to go now.” 

‘‘ Go to an inn for to-night,” said her ladyship 
hurriedly, “ and I’ll come to you in the morning and 
advise you as to your future movements, and help 
you.” 

“ But I must see Robert first.” 

Lady Glencairn frowned impatiently. “ Foolish 
girl, take my advice and wait until to-morrow. You 
will lose nothing by it, for I will myself plead with 
Robert in your behalf.” 

Jean did not answer. She stood mute and unde- 
cided. 

“ Surely, my dear Jean,” continued Lady Glen- 
cairn mockingly, “ you don’t expect him to pro- 
claim you as his dearly beloved wife before them all, 
do you.'* ” She waved her hand carelessly toward the 
drawing-room. 

Jean flushed and looked away. “No, I didn’t 
come for that,” she muttered slowly. 

“ Then why not do as I advise? I know that when 
the keen edge of his grief has worn off he will willingly 
take you to his heart and by a church marriage make 
you his lawful wife,” and she threw her warm arm 
over the shoulders of the yielding girl. 

J ean gave a nervous little laugh. “ I vow, Lady 
Glencairn, I have not the courage to meet him now,” 


HIGHLAND MARY 241 

she said. “ I — I thank you gratefully for your 

kindness. I — I know ’tis better to wait ” She 

paused and sighed dejectedly. “You’ll find me at 
the Star and Garter Inn in King’s Court,” she said 
quickly after a moment’s indecision. Then she drew 
her scarf hurriedly about her shoulders as if anxious 
to get away. 

At that instant a laughing group of people came 
out on the balcony. Lady Glencairn hastily drew 
her back in the shadows. “ Go, go quickly ! ” she 
whispered, “ before you are seen.” With a panting 
word of thanks Jean glided through the bushes, and, 
skirting the patches of light, she soon reached the 
secret door through which she had so unceremon- 
iously entered and passed out to the street now 
deserted, save for the motionless coachmen asleep on 
their boxes. Lady Glencairn breathed a sigh of 
relief as she watched Jean fade out of sight, swal- 
lowed up in the darkness. “ Both out of the way 
now,” she murmured, a triumphant smile on her 
full crimson lips. She walked quickly toward the 
balcony. “ What a contemptible creature I have 
become,” she thought with careless unconcern. 
“ And all for love of a low-born peasant,” and she 
laughed derisively, as she mounted the steps. She 
slowly entered the drawing-room, feeling strangely 
nervous and guilty, to find a great many people 
going to supper. Robert had grown tired of the 
heat and glare and noise, and seeing Mary sitting 


242 HIGHLAND MARY 


SO weary and wan looking, surrounded by a crowd of 
admirers who worshiped at the shrine of youth and 
beauty, he crossed quickly and whispered his wishes 
to her. She rose gladly and both advanced to bid 
their hostess farewell. 

“ Sorry you cannot remain longer,” said the 
Duchess with genuine cordiality. “ You must bring 
Miss Campbell some afternoon to see me, Mr. 
Burns, when I am not receiving the public,” and 
with a pleasant smile she bade them good-night. 
Slowly they made their way through the crowd and 
met Lady Glencairn coming swiftly toward them. 

As her eyes rested upon his happy countenance 
she knew that he was still in ignorance of Jean’s 
arrival in Edinburgh. ‘‘ Won’t you have some sup- 
per.? ” she inquired brightly. “ Don’t go yet.” 

But Robert quietly insisted, as he perceived Mary’s 
increasing languor and pallor. So Lady Glencairn, 
with anger and disappointment gnawing at her 
heart, for she had hoped to show him the beauties 
of the garden by moonlight before he went, seeing 
that remonstrances were of no avail, bade them both 
an effusive good-night. Don’t forget my garden 
party to-morrow,” she said with a patronizing smile, 
touching Mary’s cold hand lightly. “ I shall expect 
you,” and she turned to greet her husband, who was 
approaching with Mr. Mackenzie. 

“ Thank ye, your ladyship,” answered Mary sim- 
ply, making a little courtesy. 


HIGHLAND MARY 243 

“ Let me escort you to the carriage, Miss Camp- 
bell,” said Lord Glencairn, at once offering her his 
arm. 

“ And allow me to follow,” added Mr. Mackenzie, 
slipping his arm through Robert’s, to whom he whis- 
pered, “ How dare you, sir, how dare you be such 
a provokingly happy man in this miserable old 
world.? ” Robert laughed, and they all walked slowly 
down to the carriage, conversing gayly on their 
way. 

Suddenly Mary stopped with a little exclamation 
of dismay. “ We’ve forgotten Mrs. Dunlop,” she 
said contritely. 

With a laugh Lord Glencairn dispatched a foot- 
man to find her, and the good lady soon appeared, 
flushed and panting from her hurried departure. 
With a last handshake all around Robert sprang in 
beside them and within a couple of minutes the car- 
riage was out of sight. 

“Ye were the queen of the evening, Mary, just 
as I told ye ye’d be,” said Robert triumphantly. 
“Have ye enjoyed yoursel’.?” 

“ Ay, for a whiley,” answered Mary listlessly, 
leaning back against the heavy padding of the seat, 
with eyes heavy and sad. She had had no opportu- 
nity as yet to tell Robert the dread news, and her 
heart was filled with misgivings as she thought of 
Jean waiting patiently in the garden for him to 
come to her. She started up suddenly, resolved to 


244 HIGHLAND MARY 


tell him, but the sight of his happy face, and the 
presence of Mrs. Dunlop, cooled her courage, and 
she leaned back again silent and miserable. If she 
didn’t tell him to-night what would Jean do.? With 
her usual unselfishness she gave no thought to self. 
She was miserably unhappy, but she would not allow 
herself to think of her own sufferings. Her whole 
thought was of him and the darkness into which he 
would soon be plunged, and of Jean and her bairns, 
Robert’s bairns. She sighed quiveringly, and a little 
pang of jealousy shot through her heart like a breath 
of fire, but it soon passed away and left only a dull 
ache that would always be there now, she thought 
wearily, as they rolled along toward home. She 
clasped her hands together feverishly. “ Should she 
whisper to him now, tell him all and bid him drive back 
to Jean.? ” she asked herself in an agony of indecision. 
At that moment the carriage stopped at the door 
of Mrs. Dunlop’s mansion. It was too late now. 
She gave a little sigh of relief, though her heart 
was filled with grief and anxiety. Robert escorted 
her to the door, with loving pride in her daintiness, in 
her sweet air of refinement. She looked very frail and 
spirituelle, as she turned to him quietly and bade 
him good-night. 

“ Has something gone wrong, Mary.? ” he in- 
quired solicitously, noticing with alarm her wan face, 
her languid air of weariness. 

She shook her head slowly, not daring to trust 


HIGHLAND MARY 245 

her voice. Mrs. Dunlop put her arm about her 
fondly. 

“ The lassie is tired, Robert,” she said in her 
motherly way, “ and no wonder. She’ll be as bright 
as a lark in the morning.” Bidding them both a 
tender good-night, he turned and ran down the steps, 
jumped into the carriage, and drove off toward his 
chambers, whistling softly to himself the tune of 
Mary of Argyle.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


The next day a grand garden party was given at 
Glencairn Hall. All Edinburgh was invited, and 
they came eagerly to see the great poet, who was on 
the eve of leaving the social world to retire to his 
farm in Ayrshire, and to see Highland Mary, the 
dainty, flower-like sweetheart of their idol. The 
grounds looked very bright and gay. Refreshment 
booths of red and white canvas were dotted here and 
there on the smooth velvet lawns. Bright flags of all 
nations waved from different parts of the gardens — 
signals of putting, archery, and dancing — and the 
seductive music of the Queen’s theater orchestra rose 
up and j oined the songs of birds and the tinkle of the 
fountains in full play. Girls in light summer costumes 
were grouped picturesquely beneath the stately oaks 
and beeches. Gay laughter echoed from the leafy 
shrubberies, and stray couples were seen sauntering 
carelessly through the rose gardens, too much ab- 
sorbed in each other to notice what was going on 
around them. 

Presently out of the same rose garden a man 
walked hurriedly, followed by a woman, who quickly 
overtook him, to his perceptible annoyance. They 
were Sir William Creech and Eppy McKay. Eppy 
246 


HIGHLAND MARY 247 

looked exceedingly ugly in the full glare of the bright 
sun. She was dressed in a brilliant plaid gown, the 
style of which seemed to accentuate her angularity; 
and a huge Gainsborough hat was perched jauntily 
upon her towering court wig. Her small green eyes 
looked coquettishly at her irate companion. He 
stopped and glared at her fiercely. 

“ But I desire to take a smoke,” he said wrath- 
fully. 

“ I don’t object to smoke, Sir William,” she 
tittered coyly. 

He looked about him wildly as if seeking some 
means of escape from his admirer. ‘‘ But I wish 
to be alone,” he cried almost pleadingly. 

She opened her eyes and regarded him reproach- 
fully. ‘‘ Oh, you are joking. Sir William, but you 
cannot scare me away.” 

With a groan of despair he continued his walk, hop- 
ing to escape from his persistent admirer. “ Great 
heavens ! I’ll go daft yet,” he muttered as he perceived 
her close at his elbow. For a few minutes he puffed 
furiously at his pipe, casting angry glances from 
time to time at his unwelcome companion, who trot- 
ted along so contentedly at his side. Finally Sir 
William concluded that he could not elude her atten- 
tions for the time being, so decided to make the best of 
the infliction. “ Do I go too fast for you.? ” he asked 
maliciously, as he heard her puflSng away vigorously 
beside him. 


248 HIGHLAND MARY 

“ No, Indeed,” she replied with a little breathless 
giggle. “ You couldn’t go too fast for me, for I 
am as light and quick on my feet as ever I was. In 
faith, why shouldn’t I be.^^ ” she continued gayly. 
“ I am only 32. You see I am so much younger than 
you.” 

He snorted angrily. “ Well, you don’t look it,” 
he retorted. She stopped short and looked at him 
in amazed indignation. 

“ What ? ” she quavered, a little out of breath, 
“ I don’t look younger than you? ” 

At the sign of approaching tears. Sir William 
frowned impatiently. “ I mean you don’t look — 32,” 
he said diplomatically. 

She simpered and thanked him for the compliment. 

He smiled grimly as he said to himself, “ She’s 
over 60 if she’s a day.” 

“ They all tell me I don’t look my age,” she said 
gushingly. It’s my artistic soul that keeps me so 
young and fresh-looking.” They sat down on a 
bench, glad of the opportunity to cool themselves 
after their strenuous walk. “ Do you know,” she 
said dreamily, fanning herself, “ I am very different 
from most artistic people.” He looked at her. “ Oh 
my, yes, indeed ! ” she affirmed convincingly. “ I 
don’t live in the clouds, I am of the earth earthy,” 
and she gave him another languishing look. 

“ Ye don’t tell me,” he retorted mockingly. 

“ But I love art,” sighed Eppy ecstatically. 


HIGHLAND MARY 249 

“ When I was young,” she went on reminiscently, 
“ I mean when I was younger,” she corrected herself 
with a startled look at her silent companion, “ I came 
near having a painting from my own hand hung in 
the National Gallery.” 

“ You are a clever woman,” he remarked sarcas- 
tically. 

“ It was this way,” she explained volubly. “ I 
had painted a lovely marine. I do marines much 
better than anything else,” with a self-conscious 
smirk, “ and upon showing it to Mr. William Nichol, 
a dear man, but one who drinks to excess, he prom- 
ised to mention it to the Lord Mayor. Well, it made 
me exceedingly nervous, I vow. However, I bought 
a most lovely frame for it, Nile green in color, with 
sweet red plush ends.” She cleared her throat affect- 
edly and continued with evident delight. “ I do like 
things to match,” she explained, “ and the green was 
the exact shade of the water. It was simply exquis- 
ite.” She clasped her hands together and rolled her 
eyes heavenward. “ And the red ends exactly 

matched the cow, which was a lovely shade of ” 

“Cow.'^” echoed Sir William in amazement. 
“ Did I hear you say cow? ” 

Eppy looked at him pettishly. She didn’t like to 
be so violently interrupted. ‘‘ Certainly a cow,” 
she returned frigidly. Is there anything strange 
in a cow ? ” and she drew herself up with an in- 
jured air. 


250 HIGHLAND MARY 

No, there’s nothing strange in a cow when it 
is by itself,” replied Sir William dryly, “ but in a 
marine, well, it is a little hard on the cow.” 

“ You don’t know what you are saying. Sir Will- 
iam,” flashed Eppy indignantly. “ Please don’t 
interrupt me again. The cow I have reference to was 
in one corner drinking. I heard Lady Nancy Gor- 
don telling Mrs. McLehose that the cow looked as if 
it were trying to drink the ocean dry ; the idea ! ” 
and she clucked her tongue against her teeth in con- 
temptuous scorn. “ She’s a cat,” she continued 
spitefully; “I never could bear her. She was un- 
common jealous of me, yes, indeed, but that’s another 
matter.” 

Sir William turned crimson, and seemed about to 
choke, as he tried to smother his laughter. “ You 
were telling me about vour marine,” he Anally stut- 
tered. 

“ Don’t hurry me. Sir William,” said Eppy 
coquettishly. “ Well, I took it to Lord Mundobbo. 
You know whom I mean ; at that time he had some- 
thing to do with the National Gallery; Mr. Nichol 
didn’t inform me as to his exact connection with it.” 
She paused and gazed soulfully into space. “ Shall 
I ever forget the day.? The sun was high in the 
heavens — ^but there,” she broke off with a deprecating 
smile. “ I really must restrain my poetic impulse. 
But as I was saying,” she rambled on quickly, “ the 
sky was overcast and threatening snow ” 


HIGHLAND MARY 251 

“ I thought the sun was shining, Miss McKay,” 
interrupted Sir William gruffly. 

She was beginning to get on his nerves again. “ I 
am a little mixed in my metaphors,” apologized 
Eppy condescendingly, “ but you flustrate me so. 
Sir William,” and she tapped him playfully with her 
fan. “ Well, I felt that victory was mine. I took 
off the paper — it was pink, tied with a yellow string 
— and laid it before him.” She paused impressively, 
then she continued in an elocutionary tone of voice. 
‘‘ He gazed at it long and silently. He was simply 
speechless. I knew he’d be. I said to him, ‘ Lord 
Mundobbo, as much as it grieves me to part with my 
— ahem — masterpiece, for the sake of art I will per- 
mit you to add it to the collection of paintings in the 
National Gallery.’ Said he, ‘ Miss McKay, really I 
appreciate this honor you do me and the National 
Gallery. It is a masterpiece of its kind, but I cannot 
accept it.’ ” 

“ The brute ! ” exclaimed Sir William in mock 
anger. “ Why not? ” 

“ He said if I would change the ocean into a fresh 
water pond and give the cow a chance, he might 
consider it,” and Eppy tearfully regarded her now 
laughing companion with an aggrieved air. 

“Did ye do it?” inquired Sir William, rising to 
his feet.- 

“ Did I do it ! ” repeated Eppy with horror ex- 
pressed in every tone of her voice, every feature of 


252 HIGHLAND MARY 


her pointed face. “ No, sir,” she replied emphatic- 
ally. “ Never would I willingly spoil a work of art. 
That was my first and only. I couldn’t improve on 
it. But my artistic soul was smothered, and now 
another, a poetic spirit has taken its place.” She 
smiled dreamily, a sigh of content escaping her 
parted lips. 

“ A case of the survival of the fittest, eh? ” he 
retorted brusquely. 

For a moment they walked on in silence. Sir Will- 
iam wondering how to get rid of the incubus, and 
Eppy happy over the impression she fondly imagined 
she had made upon Sir William. Just then a bend 
in the avenue brought them in full view of the broad 
terrace in front of the hall, where Robert’s handsome 
figure was outlined clearly against the dazzling blue 
of the sky. Several people were grouped near him. 
He seemed to be in animated conversation with some 
of them, and his face was radiant with smiles. With 
a cry of delight, Eppy hurried forward to greet him, 
forgetting Sir Wilham utterly, much to his amaze- 
ment. That she, or anyone, would dare leave him so 
unceremoniously to join Robert Bums angered him 
beyond measure. He followed her slowly at some lit- 
tle distance, with no very pleasant expression on his 
stem features. 

Later in the afternoon when it was close to sun- 
set, and all other amusements had given way to 
the delight of dancing Sir Roger de Coverly on the 


HIGHLAND MARY 253 

springy green turf to the silvery music of the 
orchestra, Mary and Mrs. Dunlop put in their 
appearance, Mary was looking very beautiful in a 
clinging, old-fashioned white crepe de chene, another 
old relic of Mrs. Dunlop’s dead and gone slim youth. 
While they danced, she reclined languidly in a low 
chair, her sad eyes fixed mournfully upon Rob- 
ert’s glowing face as he lay stretched in lazy length 
at her feet. The day had passed and still she had had 
no opportunity to tell him the dire news, for she had 
not seen him since the night before. 

While the dancing was in progress a liveried page 
walked noiselessly over the turf and stopping beside 
the recumbent figure of the poet, quietly handed him 
a note. He leisurely opened it and read it at a 
glance. “ Say I’ll be right there,” he said to the 
waiting page after a moment’s meditation. He 
excused himself to Mary and the others and followed 
the man indoors, with a frown of impatient wonder 
clouding his brow. 

Under the shadow of a noble maple. Lady Glen- 
cairn was seated in earnest conversation with her 
uncle. Her ladyship was looking exceedingly beauti- 
ful in a pink-flowered summer silk, which puffed and 
billowed around her, with a bunch of white heather 
at her breast and a wreath of the same dainty flowers 
in her picturesque Leghorn hat. She held a pink- 
lined parasol over her head, and from under the 
protecting shadow her dark lustrous eyes flashed dis- 


254 HIGHLAND MARY 


dainfully as she regarded her scolding companion. 
Suddenly she gave a start and leaned forward to 
watch the group opposite. She had noticed the quiet 
entrance of the servant and the immediate departure 
of the poet, and idly wondered who it was that 
desired to see Robert on such urgent business that 
they must needs follow him here. The minutes 
passed and still he did not return. She was growing 
anxious. “ Suppose ” — and she started violently at 
the sudden thought — “ suppose it was by some unfor- 
tunate chance Jean Armour herself ” She rose 
quickly to her feet, with a word of apology and 
after a quick look around, in which she noticed Mary’s 
pale face and restless manner, she walked leisurely 
toward the house. Once inside she rang for the page 
and upon questioning him learned that the young 
woman who had insisted on seeing Mr. Burns, and who 
was none other than Jean Armour, as she concluded 
from the man’s description, had just gone, and that 
Mr. Burns was now seated in the drawing-room alone. 
Hastily dismissing him, she stole softly into the 
parlors, and there beside the table, his face in his 
hands, sat Robert, his shoulders heaving convul- 
sively. She looked at him a moment and the tears 
of pity came into her luminous eyes. Then softly 
she walked to his side and laid her cool hand upon 
his feverish head. “ Robert, I am so sorry for you,” 
she said gently. 

He lifted his head with a start and rose quickly 


highland MARY 255 

to his feet. It didn’t occur to him to ask what she 
ment or to inquire how she knew what had happened 
in that room, and she was secretly glad that he de- 
manded no explanation. “ Where is she.? ” he asked 
dully. 

“ She has gone,” she answered quickly. ‘‘ I — I met 
her at the door and offered to assist her, gave her 
money and advised her not to make any unnecessary 
scandal in town, but to return to her home at once. 
You know she is my godchild. So she promised to 
go, and I presume she is now on her way.” She 
looked him straight in the eyes as she glibly told this 
falsehood. She didn’t know what arrangements he 
had made with J ean, but she daringly made the lying 
explanation, confident that he would believe it, for he 
could have no possible reason for suspecting her 
motives, or any means of finding out at present that 
she had not indeed met Jean, who might have altered 
her plans at the last moment. 

A look of anger came over his face for a moment, 
then as quickly died away, and his eyes filled with a 
hopeless, despairing look. He walked slowly to the 
window, his hands clenched together behind him, and 
stood there, pale and miserable and wretched, gazing 
out upon the scene of happiness he had just left. 

Lady Glencairn watched him with eyes filled with 
passion, and her heart beat with painful thuds as she 
fought against the desperate longing to throw her- 
self into his arms and comfort him. She glided 


256 HIGHLAND MARY 

quickly to his side and put her hand gently within 
his arm and stood there in sympathetic silence al- 
though she was consumed with jealousy as she 
watched his melancholy eyes riveted on the fair 
face of his lost sweetheart. For a while they stood 
there in gloomy quiet. Presently a deep, heart- 
rending sigh, which was almost a sob, escaped his 
trembling lips. 

“ An’ we were so happy a few minutes ago,” he 
murmured brokenly. “ An’ noo ’tis all over.” He 
paused and bit his lips convulsively. Presently he 
went on in a dull, low tone as if speaking to himself, 
“ How true it is, there’s many a slip ’twixt cup 
and lip.” Lady Glencairn pressed his arm ten- 
derly, but remained silent. “ What have I to live 
for noo.^ ” he continued with despairing mournful- 
ness. 

“ Everything, Robert,” murmured her ladyship 
tenderly, gazing up into his face with glittering eyes. 

He turned and looked at her in wonder. As he 
saw the feverish flush on her face, felt her hot breath 
on his cheek, he remembered with a start her pecu- 
liar words and meaning looks at Athol Castle the 
night before. Lady Glencairn noted with apprehen- 
sion the look of stern coldness spread quickly over his 
face, and the nervous tears of disappointment and 
passionate longing welled up in her eyes. Then with 
reckless abandon she dropped her head against his 
shoulder and let the tears flow unrestrainedly. For a 


HIGHLAND MARY 257 

moment Robert stood there speechless with surprise 
and horror, for he knew at last that what he had 
vaguely feared was an indisputable fact; knew that 
his hostess, the wife of his dearest friend and counsel- 
lor, entertained a guilty passion for him. It filled 
him with righteous anger that she would willingly be- 
tray the love and confidence of the noblest gentleman 
in the kingdom. He placed the weeping woman in a 
chair and stood looking down upon her with a frown 
of displeasure. “ Lady Glencairn,” he said coldly, 
“ if these tears are for my unhappy fate, I thank ye 
for your sympathy.” 

She caught his hand and held it tightly within 
her arm. “ Oh, no, no, Robert, ’tis not that,” she 
whispered passionately. “ Do you not remember the 
Lady of the Lake I told you of last evening.? ” He 
made no reply. Then she continued slowly, her voice 
low and shaking, “ Read my fate in that of hers.” 

Still he would not understand her. “ I fear I do 
not understand your meaning, my lady,” he replied, 
trying to withdraw his hand from her grasp, but 
she held it firmly. 

“ Cannot your heart understand mine ? ” she cried 
recklessly. “ Does it not pity my wretchedness ? ” 

He was silent for a moment. He knew he could 
no longer parry with her, for her words and mean- 
ing were too plain to admit of any misunderstanding. 
He turned to her, his face set and firm. “ Lady 
Glencairn,” he said sternly, ‘‘ you dishonor yourself 


258 HIGHLAND MARY 

by such madness, and all for naught. My heart is 
noo numb with sorrow, it could feel no throb of 
yours, even were I vile enough to see no evil in usurp- 
ing your husband’s rights.” 

“ Do not remind me of my unhappiness ! ” she 
exclaimed impatiently. “ I married him when I was 
a girl, before I knew what love was. Then you came 
into my life, and I knew that the fire of love was 
not dead within me.” Her rich seductive voice 
trembled with passion. 

‘‘ I pray you cease ! ” he entreated her, but she 
went on rapidly. 

Let me speak, Robert ! ” she cried, clinging to 
him frantically. “ I can no longer contain myself, 
for I love you better than my life, better than my 
honor, my good name; I care not for them now. 
Oh, pity me, pity me ! ” and she fiung herself down 
on her knees before him and burst into a storm of 
irrepressible weeping. 

Robert looked around apprehensively. The 
thought that someone might suddenly enter the 
room filled him with alarmed dismay. With a quick 
movement he raised her to her feet, and his voice 
trembled with deep feeling when he next spoke. “ I 
do pity you,” he said sorrowfully, “ but I pity your 
husband more, when he learns of your faithlessness.” 
He paused and regarded her with reproachful sad- 
ness. Oh, why have you severed forever the threads 
of our friendship by such imprudence, such rash- 


HIGHLAND MARY 259 

ness? ” As he finished he bowed his head and walked 
slowly toward the door. 

Do not leave me like this ! ” she panted desper- 
ately. “ Can’t you see you are killing me by your 
coldness.” She held out her arms in piteous entreaty 
as she continued tenderly, “ Tell me you didn’t mean 
it, Robert. Say you are but testing my love for 
you.” 

He turned on her quickly and at his look of 
contemptuous scorn she drooped her head and the 
hot blood rushed to her face, “ Are you lost to all 
sense of prudence, honor and decency ? ” he cried in 
scathing accents. “ Heaven knows I’m no moralist, 
no saint,” and he gave a mirthless little laugh as he 
thought of the opinion Edinburgh had formed con- 
cerning his morality — then he went on firmly, sol- 
emnly, ‘‘ But I would sooner cut this erring heart of 
mine out of this body than fall so low as to betray the 
honor of my friend who trusts me.” She started 
to speak again, but he raised his hand quickly. 
‘‘ Say no more. Lady Glencairn,” he said with calm 
dignity, ‘‘ an’ I’ll forget this distressing conversa- 
tion, and continue thro’ life to respect equally with 
himself, the wife of my friend.” 

Slowly the warm color faded from her cheeks, 
leaving her ashy pale, while through her suddenly 
narrowed eyelids a vindictive light gleamed tiger- 
ishly. 

‘‘ You’ve said enough ! ” she hissed through her 


260 HIGHLAND MARY 

clenched teeth. “ I have lowered myself to you as 
I would to no other man living, only to be scorned 
and humiliated. God ! ” she laughed wildly, hysteric- 
ally, and threw herself face downward upon the 
ottoman. Fool, fool ! ’’ she cried with bitter self- 
abasement. How I hate and despise myself for 
what I have done; would I had died before I had 
uttered such damning words,” and she beat her 
jeweled hands frantically against the cushions. 

‘‘ I beseech you to be careful. Lady Glencairn,” 
cried Robert in amazed alarm, going to her. 

She turned on him fiercely. ‘‘ You, of all men, 
posing as a model of virtue and goodness, prating of 
husband’s honor, wife’s duty.” She measured him 
with a scornful, sneering glance of fury. “ You, 
who have the name of making love to every female 
in petticoats who crosses your path, you hypo- 
crite ! ” 

Robert fixed his eyes upon her in silence and the 
utter scorn of the look stung her heart to its center. 
Presently he controlled his anger sufficiently to be 
able to speak, and still eying her with that straight, 
keen look of immeasurable disdain, he said in cold, 
deliberate accents, Your ladyship has been mis- 
informed as to my pa-st conduct. I do not claim 
to be more than human, but I know my name is as 
yet clear from the taint of dishonor.” 

“ You poor fool, you country yokel! ” she stormed 
furiously, walking up and down between him and 


HIGHLAND MARY 261 

the door like a caged lioness. “ Did you think you 
could scorn such a woman as I with impunity.? Do 
you think I will stand the humiliation of being re- 
pulsed, despised, shamed.? I tell you no, no, never; 
’tis but a step from love to hate, you should 
know that.” She paused in her nervous walking and 
stood facing him, her eyes ablaze with the uttermost 
anger, her beautiful figure drawn rigidly erect. 

You shall be made to feel the depth of my hatred 
before long, Robert Burns,” she threatened, and 
there came a dangerous gleam in the flashing, dark 
eyes. 

“ I shall leave Edinburgh within the hour,” 
replied Robert quietly. Was there ever such another 
unfortunate being as himself? he thought grimly, and 
a wave of unutterable sadness rushed over him. 

‘‘ Aye, that you will,” retorted her ladyship with 
a sneering, bitter laugh. “ But not as you anticipate, 
with the plaudits of the world ringing in your ears. 
Instead of that, only contemptuous silence will greet 
your departure as you leave here in shame and dis- 
grace, and when you have sunk once more into pov- 
erty and oblivion, you will repent bitterly ever 
having made an enemy of Alice Glencairn.” As 
these words left her lips, she swept haughtily past 
him like an outraged queen and left the room, leaving 
him standing there like one in a trance. 

He brushed his hands across his eyes as if to assure 
himself that he was awake, that he wasn’t the subject 


262 HIGHLAND MARY 


of some hideous hallucination, but no, he was pain- 
fully conscious of the reality of it all. He heaved a 
deep sigh and sank wearily into a chair, his eyes 
riveted upon the floor in melancholy meditation. A 
little cry aroused him from the profound gloom into 
which his thoughts were plunged and looking fear- 
fully up, dreading lest her ladyship had returned, 
his eyes rested upon the white, startled face of High- 
land Mary. She had watched him leave the grounds 
with listless curiosity, which changed to wonder and 
dismay when Lady Glencairn rose from her seat and 
sauntered toward the hall. For some minutes she 
nervously sat there wondering vaguely why he stayed 
so long and why her ladyship had followed him. 
Presently she rose and mechanically made her way 
over the springy sward toward the house. She 
couldn’t have told why she went or what she intended 
to do. She wondered in a vague way if Robert’s 
message could in any way concern Jean, but her 
thoughts dwelt longer upon the suspicions that had 
been raised in her innocent heart against her beau- 
tiful hostess, for she had recognized her as the bogus 
Lady Nancy in spite of the disguising mask, sus- 
picions that filled her with uneasiness and alarm ; and 
yet why should she be j ealous ? She told herself sadly 
she had renounced him forever, given him back to 
Jean, and in a few days she would pa4s out of his 
life forever. Oh, the agony that pierced her heart 
at the recollection of her past happiness! How 


HIGHLAND MARY 263 

fleeting it had been — scarcely a week. She had 
drawn near the window by this time quite uncon- 
sciously. Suddenly the sound of voices within the 
room made her pause. She had not thought to listen 
nor meant to, but when she heard the passionate 
pleading voice of her ladyship and the stern replies 
from Robert, a feeling of fascinated horror took 
possession of her, rooting her to the spot. Motion- 
less she stood there and heard all that passed within 
the room. And when the voices stopped and all was 
deathly still, she peered through the window. At the 
sight of her dear one sitting there all alone, with 
that look of intense suffering on his face, her heart 
cried out to him in sympathy. Quickly she opened 
the high French window and noiselessly stepped into 
the room. For a moment she stood watching him, 
her eyes filled with patient sorrow, infinite pity, and 
a world of loving compassion. Involuntarily a deep 
sigh escaped her. As he raised his head she went 
quietly up to him and placed a tender hand upon his 
arm. After one quick, heart-broken look at her 
he buried his face in his hands again. 

“ Dinna distress yoursel’, laddie ; I have known 
since last night at Athol Castle that our happy 
dream was ended.” She felt him stiffen beneath her 
touch. “ J ean came to me in the gardens,” she 
explained with patient resignation. “ I should have 
told ye last night, for she was waiting for ye 
to come to her, but I — I hadna’ the courage.” 


264 HIGHLAND MARY 


There was silence for a moment, then he spoke in a 
low, spiritless tone. 

“ Jean said that ye knew all,” he said without 
looking up. They remained quiet after that, 
plunged in bitter thought. There was nothing they 
could say to comfort each other, the wound was bleed- 
ing too freely as yet. Presently Robert raised his 
head, and with a despairing gesture pushed the heavy 
curls back from his fevered brow and rose unsteadily 
to his feet. They must get away at once, he thought 
feverishly. He took Mary by the hand and started 
for the door, when from the open window he heard 
his name called. Turning apprehensively he beheld 
Sir William Creech entering, followed by Lord Glen- 
cairn and several of his guests. In his hand Sir 
William held a newspaper, while a hard smile of 
triumph wrinkled his stem face. 

“ I told ye, Robert Burns, ye would overreach 
yourself,” he cried jubilantly, shaking the news- 
paper at him. 

Robert looked at him apathetically. “ Ye were 
ever a bird of ill omen,” he said quietly. “ What 
have I done noo.^ ” 

‘‘ You have seen fit to sign your name to an article 
in this paper, which has aroused the indignation of 
all Edinburgh,” replied Sir William without any 
preamble. “ ’Tis a most seditious article and shows 
that ye have embraced the doctrines of the French 
Revolution.” 

“ A man has a perfect right to his opinion,” said 


HIGHLAND MARY 265 

Mrs. Dunlop decidedly, giving Sir William a scorn- 
ful look. 

“ Indeed he has,” echoed Eppy, nodding her head 
briskly. “ I mean to stick to mine.” 

Lord Glencaim turned and looked searchingly at 
Robert’s pale, gloomy face. “ Is that true, Rob- 
ert? ” he asked gently. 

Robert did not reply. He seemed not to hear, in 
fact. 

“ ’Tis a most serious charge, Mr. Burns,” re- 
marked Mr. Sterne gravely. 

“ If it be true,” retorted Mr. Mackenzie loyally. 

“ Which is not at all likely,” flashed Eppy indig- 
nantly. 

She would believe nothing wrong of her hero, 
even if it were proven in black and white. 

“ But listen ! ” continued Sir William eagerly. 
He scanned the article through quickly until he found 
what he sought. “Ah, here it is. It is stated here 
that Mr. Burns refused to stand up in the theater 
recently when ‘ God save the King ’ was being 
played,” and he glared about him indignantly. 

A quiet sneer curled Robert’s lips. “Anything 
else? ” he asked sarcastically. “ Out wi’ it or the 
venom of your spleen will poison ye,” and he fixed 
his eyes upon Sir William with disdainful indifference. 

“ And there is more,” snarled Sir William. “ ’Tis 
known that ye have sent two cannon to the French 
Directorate with a complimentary letter, offering 
further assistance.” 


266 HIGHLAND MARY 

“ Oh, no, no, impossible.” cried Lord Glencairn 
incredulously. 

“ And,” continued Sir William vindictively, 
there’s also a full account here which explains 
much of Mr. Burns’ reprehensible conduct here in 
town, as well as in Ayrshire, where it seems his 
amours were as numerous and questionable as they 
are at the present time.” 

‘‘ For shame, Creech ! ” cried Lord Glencairn with 
indignation. 

“ How fascinating he must have been even when a 
farmer,” giggled Eppy aside to Mrs. Dunlop, who 
was casting indignant glances at Sir William. 

‘‘ ’Tis a libelous article,” she flashed angrily, 
and I for one do not believe a word of it. Rob- 
ert,” she said, turning to the silent figure standing 
so pale and calm before his inquisitors, “ deny this 
absurd charge before it is given further credence ! ” 
“ He cannot deny it,” said Sir William. ‘‘ His 
name is at the bottom of it,” and he held it up to 
their view. 

“ And I’ll attempt no denial,” replied Robert in 
a full ringing voice, “ for I know it would be use- 
less. Know, then, that I do sympathize with the 
French people in their struggle for freedom, and I 
did help them all that lay in my power. I hope 
that France may gain the prize for which she is 
fighting, a free and independent republic, and that 
she may set up her standard of liberty and independ- 


HIGHLAND MARY 267 

ence as did the United States of America, when 
they were delivered from the toils of the British.” 

There was an uncomfortable silence when he had fin- 
ished his declaration. His amazed and incredulous 
listeners could hardly believe they had heard him 
aright. They looked aghast at each other, not 
knowing just how to take it. Their embarrassed 
silence was soon broken, however. 

“Ye hear those seditious sentiments,” cried Sir 
William in an I-told-you-so tone of voice. 

Lord Glencairn shook his head gravely. “ ’Tis 
dangerous to speak thus, Robert,” he said with 
solemn earnestness. “ You should be careful ” 

“Careful of what?” interrupted Robert with 
impatient scorn. “ Lest I offend people with my 
plain speaking of the truth? ” He paused and looked 
around him with flashing eyes and dilated nostrils. 
“Who is careful of my feelings?” he demanded. 
“ Not those who think themselves my superiors by 
accident of birth.” He turned to Sir William 
Creech and continued quickly, his voice vibrating 
with suppressed indignation. “ I’ve never wronged 
ye. Sir William Creech, yet ye are miscreant enough 
to seek my ruin, for I’m fair sure ’twas ye yourself 
who inserted that scurrilous article in that paper ye 
hold in your hand, in which my faults, my past 
errors and follies are now being aired.” 

Sir William turned a sickly color. “ Think what 
you like,” he muttered savagely. “ ’Tis time the 


268 HIGHLAND MARY 


people of Edinburgh knew the character of the man 
they are honoring.” 

‘‘ Sir William Creech, you are an old brute ! ” 
cried Eppy, her little gray eyes flashing fire, and 
going up to him she continued in haughty disdain, 
“ Remember, sir, I will have naught to do with you 
in the future ; I turn my back on you,” and she suited 
the action to the word. 

Meanwhile, Robert had spoken in an undertone to 
Mrs. Dunlop, and that good soul, putting an arm 
around Mary, who stood white and trembling like a 
frightened child, walked to the door, and Robert, after 
a formal inclination of his head, started quietly 
but proudly after them. They had reached the door, 
when it suddenly opened and Lady Glencairn stood 
upon the threshold, her head held haughtily erect, 
her lips curled in a disdainful sneer. She entered the 
room and closed the door behind her, then turned and 
faced the wondering group which was being aug- 
mented by the entrance, through the window, of a 
number of the guests whose curiosity had been 
aroused by the unusual scene to which they had been 
listening in speechless amazement. 

‘‘Alice, what has happened .f’ ” cried Lord Glen- 
cairn in an alarmed voice. Her ladyship’s white, 
nervous face, the peculiar glitter in her eyes, startled 
him out of his usual calmness. 

“ James, I am deeply sorry to wound you,” she 
began nervously, “ but it’s best that you should 


HIGHLAND MARY 269 

know how grievously you have been betrayed by one 
of your honored guests here to-day,” and she fixed 
her narrowed eyes upon the startled face of Robert 
Burns. 

A great fear of impending danger came over him 
as he saw the revengeful look which she flashed at him, 
and he involuntarily straightened himself as if to 
receive a shock. There was a surprised movement 
among the crowd, and a low murmur of many voices 
broke the tense stillness which followed her accusation. 

“ I — ^betrayed? ” repeated Lord Glencaim, in as- 
tonishment. “ What mean you, my dear ? ” 

“ I mean,” she answered, and the lie rolled glibly 
off her crimson lips, “ that your distinguished guest, 
Robert Bums, has to-day wantonly and without prov- 
ocation grossly insulted the wife of his friend and 
host.” As the ignoble lie left her lips, there was an 
audible indrawn breath of startled surprise from 
the amazed listeners. Then they turned and fixed 
their wondering gaze upon the accused man, who, 
after an inarticulate exclamation of horror, stood as 
though carved out of stone. 

“I for one do not believe it,” cried Mrs. Dunlop 
indignantly, and she returned Lady Glencaim’s look 
of haughty displeasure with a withering glance of 
scornful disbelief. 

“ Nor I,” schoed Eppy, with a youthful toss of 
her head. 

“ What was the nature of the insult, Alice? ” 


270 HIGHLAND MARY 

asked Lord Glencairn gravely. No doubt she had 
taken offense where no offense was intended, he 
thought indulgently. 

Before she could answer, Robert stepped quickly 
up to her with flashing eyes and lips trembling with 
anger. “ Madam, that I have had the misfortune 
to offend ye, I am sorrowfully aware,” he said with 
bitter sarcasm, ‘‘ but that I have been guilty of 
offering ye an insult, none knows better than your- 
self how little cause ye have to accuse me of such 
monstrous ingratitude, such a contemptible betrayal 
of the laws of hospitality. I am quite willing that 
you should repeat every word of the conversation 
that passed between us in the room a few minutes 
since, and if aught that I have said can be construed 
as an insult to your ladyship, then do I stand ready 
and willing to abide by the consequence of such an 
indiscretion.” He looked her straight in the eyes, 
and with folded arms calmly waited for her to 
speak. 

Not long did she return the look, however, for the 
utter scorn of it stung her guilty heart to its core. 
Not that she felt any compunction for what she was 
doing — her whole soul was up in arms against him, 
and she would not stop until she had meted out her 
spiteful revenge upon him to the fullest extent. His 
evident contemptuous defiance irritated her beyond 
measure — she was angrier with him than ever — 
already she had a sort of strange feeling of triumph 


HIGHLAND MARY 271 

at the vengeance she had designed, for she knew that 
her word would be believed against his ; even now 
she could read suspicion and conviction in many of 
the serious faces that surrounded her, much to her 
satisfaction. He had thrown down the challenge, 
had he? Well, she would take it up. No one knew 
what had passed between them save themselves, and 
no one would ever know the truth, and the truth 
would now be a very small factor in working out 
her present scheme of vengeance. All these thoughts 
flashed quickly through her mind, and her answer 
was ready on her lips almost soon as he had finished 
speaking. With well-simulated indignation she drew 
herself haughtily away from him, with a gesture of 
repulsion. “ Dare you deny your protestations of 
love and devotion? ” she replied. ‘‘ Why, my lord,” 
she continued scornfully, turning to her husband, who 
was now regarding Robert with serious, thoughtful 
eyes, a look of wounded pride and deepening sorrow 
gradually shadowing his noble countenance, “ be- 
fore I could stop him he had fallen upon his knees 
and begged me to be false to you, and to give him my 
love, my favors.” 

“ Great God ! ” cried Robert, staggering back, 
white and speechless, while a wave of the blackest 
despair engulfed him completely, for he knew that 
the outrageous lie had sealed his doom as utterly as 
though it had been the truth; knew that all denials 
from him would be useless in the face of that accusa- 


272 HIGHLAND MARY 

tion. He sank back into a chair in helpless resigna- 
tion, his independent spirit, his haughty pride 
wounded almost unto death. 

When Mary heard the lying accusation she 
started forward with a little cry on her lips. Free- 
ing herself from Mrs. Dunlop’s restraining hand, she 
took a few steps toward Lord Glencaim, her face 
aglow with indignation, her timidity, her fear of 
the great ones surrounding her, forgotten for the 
moment, as she sought to defend the man she loved. 

‘‘ My lord ! ” she cried thrillingly, “ ’tis not true ; 
Robbie did not insult her ladyship, for I ” 

But, with an angry flush. Lady Glencairn inter- 
rupted her. “ I say he did,” she retorted harshly. 
Then, as Mrs. Dunlop drew the frightened girl away, 
she continued with insulting emphasis, “ James, bid 
this man and his virtuous Highland Mary begone 
at once! Their presence here is an insult to re- 
spectable people,” and she flashed them a malicious 
look. 

“ Alice, Alice I ” exclaimed Lord Glencairn, in 
accents of deep reproach, “ that is unworthy of 
you.” 

Robert felt as though he must choke with fury. 
He forgot the presence of Lord Glencairn. He for- 
got everything but his just indignation. “ My 
God ! ” he cried passionately, striding up to the 
sneering woman, “ you dare to speak so — ^you ! ” 

‘‘Yes, I!” she returned coolly, eying him dis- 


HIGHLAND MARY 273 

dainfully up and down. “ What have you to say 
against me.? ” She drew herself up imperiously. 

Only this,” replied Robert in a low, tense voice, 
“ ye may say what you will of me, but as ye value 
your happiness, do not breathe aught against the 
fair name of Mary Campbell.” 

She uttered an angry exclamation, but remained 
speechless and so pale that her lips were devoid of 
color. If he were dishonorable enough to tell every- 
thing, she thought, with a thrill of fear, it would 
make things decidedly embarrassing and humiliat- 
ing for her, besides giving her enemies a choice bit 
of scandal, which they would use to excellent ad- 
vantage. 

At this point a few of the guests, feeling decidedly 
uncomfortable and very much de trop, quietly left 
the room, but the others, and the room was filled, 
held their ground, shamelessly reveling in the ex- 
traordinary scene, the like of which had never before 
been seen in an Edinburgh drawing-room, which 
was being enacted before them. 

‘‘ Robert, lad,” whispered Mrs. Dunlop, in a loud 
aside, “ ye must say something. Deny this charge. 
I know you are innocent of any wrong doing. 
Speak, tell his lordship so!” and she pointed to 
where he stood crushed and silent, in speechless 
sorrow. 

“ What can I say, Mrs. Dunlop.? ” replied Robert, 
in an agony of indecision. “ Would ye have me 


274 HIGHLAND MARY 

flatly contradict her ladyship and accuse her of 
lying? ” He paused a moment with patient sadness. 
“ Nay, nay, friend, there is nothing I can say noo 
that will smooth matters or clear me in the eyes of 
the world.” 

“ But you must tell them the truth,” insisted 
Mary. “ Dinna’ let them believe this monstrous thing 
of you.” She looked indignantly at the cold re- 
pellent face of her ladyship, and continued fear- 
lessly, ‘‘ She’s a bold, wicked woman, and she seeks 
your ruin ! ” 

“ How dare you, you insolent creature ! ” hissed 
her ladyship furiously, while the amazed guests 
looked in open-mouthed amazement at the demure 
little dairymaid so suddenly transformed, standing 
with head thrown back and eyes flashing accus- 
ingly. 

But Robert remained rigidly silent. He would 
not be so base, so ungrateful as to shatter his bene- 
factor’s belief in his wife’s honor, her veracity, he 
told himself in a spirit of self-sacrifice. He owed 
all he had in the world to him, and he would remain 
silent for his sake, and he kept his eyes fixed unre- 
sponsively on the rug at his feet, but the little drops 
of perspiration stood out on his brow, as he fought 
against the temptation to clear his good name from 
ignominy. 

Throwing open the door Lady Glencaim pointed 
to it dramatically, “ There’s the door, Mr. Burns,” 


HIGHLAND MARY 275 

she said insolently ; “ do not compel me to call my 
servants.” 

“ J ezebel ! ” muttered Mr. Mackenzie through his 
clenched teeth. 

“ If he goes I go too,” flashed Mrs. Dunlop, cast- 
ing an indignant look at her hostess. 

“ So will I,” echoed Eppy. 

“ Wait ! ” cried Mary vibrantly. Her silvery voice 
rang out above the confusion, as the guests moved 
about among themselves asking all sorts of inane 
questions, exploiting their views upon the subject — 
some loudly extolling Lady Glencairn’s attitude in 
the matter and others as stoutly defending the 
bard. Instantly there was an astonished hush. 

“ My lords and ladies,” continued Mary thrill- 
ingly, “ listen to me ! I tell ye that Robert Bums is 
innocent o’ this contemptible charge laid against him. 
I know it, for I was outside the window yonder an’ 
heard all that passed between him and her ladyship.” 

“ Spy ! ” hissed Lady Glencairn between her teeth, 
unheard in the hubbub of voices which had com- 
menced again with Mary’s statement as the subject 
of comment, then she laughed mockingly. How 
absurd,” she cried to those about her. “ My dear 
James, let us end this scene. I will not stay here to 
be insulted. Come, my friends, let us retire,” and 
she took her husband’s arm. 

“Ye shall listen to the truth, all of ye!” cried 
Mary resolutely. Clasping and unclasping her lit- 


276 HIGHLAND MARY 

tie hands with nervous intensity, her eyes filled with 
determined purpose, she faced the fickle crowd that 
was regarding her with such open admiration for 
her stanchness, her bravery. “ I heard her lady- 
ship swear to ruin Robert because he spurned her 
unwomanly oflPers of love,” she declared, with con- 
vincing earnestness. 

A guilty flush reddened the creamy pallor of her 
ladyship’s face. ‘‘ Oh, the shame of it, my lord, 
to be thus humiliated before my guests!” she cried, 
bursting into nervous tears. “ Surely, my lord, you 
would not listen to such monstrous tales,” she 
pleaded. 

Oh, believe me, I speak the truth,” exclaimed 
Mary, a great fear in her heart as she saw the tender 
look Lord Glencairn bestowed upon his weeping 
wife. 

He was torn and spent by conflicting emotions. 
He did not doubt his wife, yet the words of the 
young girl rang true, and there was only truth 
and nobihty stamped upon the gloomy face of the 
poet. What was he to believe How could he de- 
cide? His confidence in his wife had never yet been 
shaken — yet, stay — there was once when — but he 
would not think of that time, it was so long ago, 
yet think of it he did with uneasy misgivings. If 
she had deceived him once, might she not again? he 
asked himself fearfully. 

‘‘ Mr. Burns, will you assure me on your word of 


HIGHLAND MARY 277 

honor as a man that you are entirely innocent of 
any intentional insult to Lady Glencaim? ” asked 
Mr. Mackenzie bluntly. He had taken his place be- 
side Robert, along with Mrs. Dunlop and Mary and 
Eppy McKay, together with a few more of Robert’s 
sympathizers and stanch believers in his innocence. 
And now he asked the question in hope of eliciting 
some explanation, some excuse, anything, from the 
silent man. 

Robert raised his head and without looking at 
any one particular person, answered simply, indif- 
ferently, as many thought. 

“ I have always held Lady Glencaim in the highest 
respect and admiration,” he said quietly. ‘‘ She alone 
knows what is the end she aims at, by attributing 
feelings to me with regard to her which I have 
never conceived, and words which I have never ut- 
tered.” And he sank once more into his listless 
attitude. 

Lord Glencaim passed his hand over his brow in 
a bewildered manner. “ You were ever truthful, 
Robert,” he muttered so low that none but his wife 
heard his implied doubt of her. 

She turned on him witheringly. ‘‘ My lord, you 
insult me by lending an ear to aught he or his witness 
can say in his behalf,” she exclaimed frigidly. Then, 
turning to the onlookers, she continued with inso- 
lent innuendo in words and manner, “ You all know 
the infatuated attachment of this maid for Mr. 


278 HIGHLAND MARY 

Burns, who has bewitched her until she is ready to 
sacrifice every consideration of truth, reason, or duty 
to shield her guilty lover.” 

“ What a scandal this will cause throughout 
Edinburgh,” whispered Eppy to Mrs. Dunlop, who 
was almost beside herself with speechless indignation 
by this time. She had been listening with growing 
anger to Lady Glencairn’s insolent falsehoods, for 
she knew they were falsehoods, and she would never 
believe that Robbie would belittle himself by lying, 
for he was too brutally frank and truthful at times 
to be thoroughly an agreeable companion. 

Eppy’s inopportune remark was the straw that 
broke the camel’s back, and she turned on her hotly. 
“ Hold your tongue, ye old busy body ! ” she ex- 
ploded violently, nearly knocking the astonished 
Eppy down by the suddenness, the unexpectedness, 
of the retort. 

“ I was never so insulted in my life,” Eppy 
gasped tearfully, making little dabs at her eyes 
with a dainty ’kerchief, and casting hurt, reproach- 
ful glances at the blunt old lady, who, after deliver- 
ing her shaft at the unoffending Eppy, turned to 
Lord Glencairn, the fire still flashing in her deter- 
mined eyes. 

“ Lord Glencairn,” she said, with a touch of de- 
fiance, “ you may forbid me your house hereafter, 
and indeed I hardly believe I will be welcome,” with 
a look at the scornful face of her hostess; “but I 


HIGHLAND MARY 279 

care not ; I believe in Robert’s innocence, and that 
Mary Campbell has only spoken the truth.” A few 
nodded their heads to each other in approval. Lord 
Glencairn stood mute, a prey to the doubting fear 
which gripped his heart. 

Her ladyship, with one quick look around at the 
wavering faces of her friends, knew that she was 
losing ground, and the color faded from her cheeks. 
A look of nervous fear came into her steely eyes. 
She must restore their shaking confidence in her — 
but how.? It gave her a strange feeling of satisfac- 
tion to know that whatever the outcome, she had 
ruined his popularity for the present, but she wanted 
to ruin him utterly — to turn every door in Edin- 
burgh against him. If she could only get someone 
to speak in her behalf, she thought prayerfully, as 
she looked about her. Suddenly her eyes rested on 
the saturnine features of her uncle, who was regard- 
ing her with a malicious smile of triumph. An eager 
light came into her hard eyes. He hated Robert 
Burns ; he would help her out if anyone would ; she 
would risk it. His word coupled with hers would 
instantly turn the tide in her favor. And risking 
all upon the throw, she called out loud enough to be 
heard above the murmur of voices, ‘‘ Uncle, it seems 
my word is not fully believed,” she said, with a little 
pitying, disdainful smile, which brought the flush 
of embarrassment to the cheeks of several, who hap- 
pened to catch her eye ; “ so if you will oblige me 


280 HIGHLAND MARY 


by relating what you know of the unpleasant cir- 
cumstances, perhaps your word will be accepted by 
our doubting friends.” Her lazy voice was replete 
with insulting sarcasm. 

All eyes turned to look at Sir William, who, after 
one quick, angry glance at the cool, smiling face of 
his strategic niece, cleared his throat with irritating 
precision, and, without glancing at the startled face 
of his victim, who had started to his feet upon hear- 
ing the amazing request of her ladyship, spoke 
quickly and harshly, a faint tinge of color dying his 
yellow skin as the dastardly lie left his lips. 

I overheard Mr. Burns’ insults to my niece,” he 
said firmly. I was standing behind the curtain 
there,” pointing to a large window, ‘‘ where I had 
gone only a moment before Lady Glencairn entered 
the room, to glance out of the window, having heard a 
noise without, and before I could make my presence 
known, Mr. Burns had thrown himself upon his 
knees, and — and I did not disturb them,” he con- 
cluded lamely. 

“Ye perjurer!” cried Robert furiously. “By 
heaven, I could choke ye with your own lie I ” and he 
turned white with passion. Sir William cowered 
back, a look of fear in his shifty eyes. 

“ Oh, Robbie, take me hame, take me hame,” 
gasped Mary, with heart-breaking pathos, and she 
sank half fainting in the chair Robert had vacated. 

“Come, James, let us retire,” said Lady Glen- 


HIGHLAND MARY 281 

cairn sweetly, casting a look of grateful triumph at 
her uncle. “ I am sorry you have lost a friend, but 
I could not shield him,” and she pressed his arm with 
affected tenderness. Slowly, sorrowfully he allowed 
himself to be drawn to the door. 

“ My lord ! ” cried Robert hoarsely, “ have ye no 
word to say to me.? Ye have heard the proofs of 
my innocence ; will ye not believe them ? ” and his 
whole soul was in his eyes as he eagerly searched the 
downcast face of his old benefactor. 

Lord Glencairn gave him one sad, reproachful 
look. “ Oh, Robert,” he said brokenly, ‘‘ and I 
trusted you so.” 

Robert dropped his hand, which he had extended 
pleadingly, and a flush mounted to the roots of his 
hair, which quickly faded, leaving him paler than 
before, while a look of wounded pride and unutter- 
able bitterness flashed into his stem face. 

“I will attempt no further denial, my lord,” he 
said slowly, with quiet dignity. Calumny has at 
last reared its vicious head to strike like some veno- 
mous serpent, seeking to crush me in its enveloping 
folds. The genius of the Bard is ignored, forgot- 
ten — only my obscure birth, my sins, my indiscre- 
tions, my faults are remembered now,” and he smiled 
with mournful bitterness. 

“Ye have been too puffed up with pride and 
vanity,” cried Sir William brutally. “ Edinburgh 
has tired of you.’’ 


282 HIGHLAND MARY 

Robert gave a scornful little laugh. “ Why,” he 
asked, looking around at those who had been only 
too glad to fawn upon him a few moments before, 
“because I am no longer a curiosity for the vulgar 
to gaze at.?” He spoke with biting sarcasm. He 
paused a minute, then continued bitterly. “ Oh, fool 
that I have been ! At last my eyes are opened to my 
true position in your world of society. How I hate 
and despise the hypocrisy of you so-called some- 
bodies! How you fawn and smirk and bow down 
to wealth and position, while the man of genius, of 
avowed worth is disbelieved, dishonored, and in- 
sulted 1 God, the humiliation of it all ! ” His eyes 
flashed with righteous anger and the indignant scorn 
in his voice cut deeply through the thin skin of 
more than one of his listeners. “ I have endured 
the insults heaped upon my head to-day in bitterness 
of spirit and in silent scorn,” he continued stormily, 
“ but noo my outraged manhood at last rebels, and I 
throw down my gage of contemptuous defiance.” 

“ Robert, calm yourself, laddie ! ” whispered Mrs. 
Dunlop apprehensively, laying a restraining hand 
upon his arm, which trembled with excitement. 

“ Your friends will never believe aught against 
you, Mr. Burns,” exclaimed Mr. Mackenzie, with 
deep feeling in his voice. 

“ My friends ! ” repeated Robert wildly. “ I have 
none, I want none in this purse proud city. No 
longer will I submit to insulting condescension. No 


HIGHLAND MARY 283 

longer will I skulk into a corner of the street like 
the veriest nobody on earth, lest the rattling equi- 
page of some gossiping titled blockhead mangle me 
in the mire.” 

“ Robert, I have always loved you,” exclaimed 
Lord Glencairn, with rebuking reproachfulness. 

“ But ye believe the worst of me noo,” replied 
Robert passionately. “ It only needed this scene 
of scandal to show my friends in their true col- 
ors.” 

“ Then go back to your low-born friends where 
ye belong,” snarled Sir William vindictively. 

I mean to go back,” retorted Robert, his face 
flushing crimson, “ and with gladness will I shake 
the dust of this unjust city off my feet.” A softer 
look came over his haggard face and his eyes filled 
with a yearning look of utter heart-weariness, a sud- 
den longing for the blissful quiet of his country 
home. A tender sweetness came into his voice as 
he continued softly, “ I will return from whence 
I came, to the plowtail, where the poetic genius of 
my country found me and threw her inspiring mantle 
over me.” 

Mary took his hand in hers, and with infinite ten- 
derness murmured fondly, “ An’ ye’ll find the banks 
an’ braes of bonnie Doon holding out their arms to 
welcome ye back to your native heath once more, 
laddie.” 

“ Let us hope he’ll shine to better advantage 


284 HIGHLAND MARY 


there,” sneered Sir William. A nervous little titter 
broke the tense silence. 

Robert turned on him, goaded to sudden fury. 
“ Ye bird o’ ill omen ! ” he panted hoarsely, “ I have 
never injured ye; I have brought money into your 
empty pockets. But ye will repent bitterly for 
swearing away my life as ye have this day, for e’en 
though I leave Edinburgh in shame and disgrace, 
’tis not for ay. Nay! I thank God my works will 
live after me, that my name will yet become im- 
mortal.” His words rang out wildly and with im- 
passioned intensity. 

Lady Glencairn laughed mockingly, and, turning 
to some of her friends standing near, she made some 
low-toned remark, evidently a sarcastic witticism at 
the expense of the speaker, which elicited a burst of 
hollow laughter from her listeners, who, while they 
wished to remain in the favor of the leader of Edin- 
burgh society, stood in wholesome awe of the blunt 
speech, the scornful wit of the brilliant poet on 
trial before them. 

“Ye vain boaster!” scoffed Sir William loudly, 
“ you’ll be forgot within a week,” and he laughed 
derisively. 

“Ye may scoff, ye may laugh,” retorted Robert 
hotly. “Ye may call me egoist if ye like, but I know 
what I have done for my country — I have attuned 
my wild artless notes to sing her praises, joys, and 
sorrows, and I know those songs will live forever in 


HIGHLAND MARY 285 

the heart of every true Scotsman.” Suddenly, like 
a ray of sunshine which dispels the morning mist, 
his dark haughty face took upon itself a noble, 
thoughtful, rapt expression — his wildly flashing eyes 
softened — his furrowed brow smoothed, and, fixing 
his luminous eyes upon the disdainful face of his 
hostess, he continued with melancholy pathos and 
prophetic solemnity, “ Ah, my lady, ye have 
trampled my good name low in the dust to-day, but 
my prophetic spirit tells me the day is coming, even 
though ye an’ all my traducers here be dead, rotted 
and forgot, when one name will be remembered, cher- 
ished and proclaimed above all others of Scotland, 
aye, the world, and that name, my lords and ladies, 
will not be of any rich titled somebody! Nay, ’twill 
be that of the plowman-poet of Ayrshire, Robert 
Burns.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


The situation in which Robert now found himself 
was calculated to awaken reflection. The time had 
come, so he gloomily told his friend, Will Nichol, the 
morning after the garden party at Lord Glen- 
cairn’s, for him to abandon the gayety and dissipa- 
tion of which he had been too much enamored ; and 
all that day he pondered seriously, if gloomily, on 
the past, and formed virtuous resolutions respecting 
the future. He had weeks ago made up his mind 
to settle himself for life in the occupation of agri- 
culture, and now that Edinburgh had tired of his 
peculiarities, and the novelty of his appearance had 
become an old story for them, there was nothing 
left for him to do but to start in on his new life as 
soon as possible. To further that end he called upon 
Sir William that day and demanded a settlement. 
When he left the office he found himself master of 
nearly £500. With the money in his pocket he 
again called on Will Nichols and requested him to 
assist him in the selection of a farm. With his 
advice and assistance he soon decided to lease the 
farm of Ellisland, on the banks of the River Nith, 
just above Dumfries. When he had in this manner 
arranged his plans for the future his generous heart, 


HIGHLAND MARY 287 

which was sore and bleeding from the many wounds 
it had recently received, wounds which seemed to the 
suffering man that would never heal in this life, 
turned in pity and remorse to the mother of his child 
— a thrill of yearning stirred him strangely as he 
thought of the little one — his son — a warm feeling 
of love welled up in his heart as he softly repeated 
the words ; and listening to no consideration but 
those of honor and duty, and a strange feeling of 
growing affection, which made him pause in wonder, 
he sought out Jean at the Inn, having learned that 
she was still in town, contrary to Lady Glencairn’s 
assertion, which he had believed; and there, with his 
friends surrounding them, they were joined in a 
public declaration of marriage, thus legalizing their 
union and rendering it permanent for life. 

Mrs. Dunlop and Mary had not been present at 
the ceremony. Mary was confined to her bed in a 
state of nervous collapse, and Mrs. Dunlop, much 
as she loved Robert, and honored him for the noble 
step he was taking, could not leave the stricken girl. 
It was her wish and determination to keep Mary with 
her as long as she could content herself there. Her 
kind, motherly heart ached in silent sympathy for 
the child who had received such a bitter disappoint- 
ment, and who was bearing her sorrows with such 
patient fortitude. Before Robert left the city she 
wrote for him to come and see her, assuring him of 
her continued friendship, etc., etc. That evening 


288 HIGHLAND MARY 


found him seated beside his stanch friend in whom 
he confided his hopes and his fears for the future, 
and soon he had poured out the bitterness of his 
heart, the yearnings of his soul, all the cruel disap- 
pointments of his tempestuous life. She listened in 
sympathetic silence, a smile of encouragement, every 
now and then, lighting up her face. When he had 
finished, she told him how proud she was of him, how 
she gloried in his strength of purpose, his new-made 
resolutions, cautioned him not to forget the new 
vows he had so lately formed, warned him of the 
many vices, the back-sliding state into which one of 
his temperament was so apt to fall. Then with in- 
finite tenderness she told him of the courage of the 
sweet maiden who now lay upon her bed of sorrow 
in the upper room, told him of her loyalty, her pride 
in his greatness, in his nobility, while he listened with 
the burning tears streaming unchecked down his 
quivering cheeks. After a pause she took him by 
the hand and led him softly to the door of Mary’s 
chamber. “ For the last farewell,” she whispered 
sadly. Then she left him standing before the door, 
gazing at it as though it were the gates of Heaven 
which were about to open for him at his bidding. A 
sweet voice bade him enter, in answer to his timid 
knock, and softly opening the door, he stepped into 
the room. 

Mary opened her beautiful, tired blue eyes, think- 
ing it was her dear benefactress, and then what a 


HIGHLAND MARY 289 

divine rapture — what a dazzling wonder and joy 
flashed into them, giving them back their old luster 
of sunlight sparkling on an azure sea. She sprang 
up in her bed and stretched out her arms. 

‘‘ Robert ! ” she cried sobbingly. ‘‘ Oh, Robbie, 
my darling.” 

Mrs. Dunlop came back and softly closed the door 
on the sacred stillness that followed. Then she 
slowly wended her way down to her sitting-room and 
sat down with a deep sigh. “ What a sad old world 
this is,” she thought. The time dragged along very 
slowly as she patiently waited for Robert to come 
down. Presently she heard the door above close 
ever so gently, and then his low footfall down the 
thick stair carpet. She rose and met him in the recep- 
tion hall. He stood on the lowest step, his hand on 
the balustrade, his breast heaving with the strain of 
his emotions. Mrs. Dunlop took his hand tenderly 
and pressed it in loving sympathy. 

By and by he spoke, and the intense suffering in 
his voice touched her keenly. “ As ye sow, so shall 
ye reap,” he muttered brokenly. She could only 
press his hand in silent sympathy. Gradually his 
grief became quiet and a look of melancholy resig- 
nation came over his expressive face. 

“ When will you leave the city ? ” she asked 
quietly. 

He thought a moment. “ My affairs will be settled 
by the week’s end,” he replied, “ then I shall go 


290 HIGHLAND MARY 


straight to Ellisland. I ” He paused a mo- 

ment, then straightened himself, and continued in a 
firm voice, “ Jean has gone to Mauchline. She will 
remain there until the house at Ellisland is in con- 
dition to receive her.” He held out his hand. 
“ And now, dear, good friend, good-by.” 

“ No, not good-by, laddie,” she answered tear- 
fully. “ Just au revoivy for I mean to visit you some 
day,” and she smiled through her tears. 

With a last shake of the hand, he left her, while 
above stairs a sweet, wan, tear-stained face, pressed 
close against the pane, watched his bowed figure 
striding moodily toward his lodging, watched it as 
it faded, growing dimmer and dimmer, till it was lost 
to sight. 



Robert Burns 





BOOK III 




CHAPTER XX 

Now spells of mightier power prepare, 

Bid brighter phantoms round him dance; 

Let flattery spread her viewless snare, 

And fame attract his vagrant glance; 

Let sprightly pleasure too advance, 

Unveiled her eyes, unclasped her zone; 

Till last in love’s delicious trance 
He scorns the joys his youth has known. 

When Robert reached Ellisland the evening sun 
was flaming over the distant western hills. Not a 
breath stirred the crimson opening blossom, or the 
verdant spreading leaf. It was a golden moment 
for a poet’s heart. He stopped his horse by the door 
of the cottage and stood silently regarding his 
future home. He had secured from Mr. Miller in 
Dumfries, the owner of the farm, the keys, and de- 
clining the company of several, who offered to show 
him the way to his new possession, he set out on his 
journey in gloomy solitude. For a few moments he 
listened to the birds pouring their harmony on 
every hand, as if to wecome the wanderer, then 
with a sigh he unlocked the door and went 
within. A few weeks passed uneventfully. Upon 
291 


292 HIGHLAND MARY 

his arrival he had immediately begun to rebuild the 
dwelling house, which was inadequate to accommo- 
date his family. It afforded his jaded senses much 
pleasure to survey the grounds he was about to culti- 
vate, and in rearing a building that should give 
shelter to his wife and children (who were with Squire 
Armour in Mauchline, the stern old man having 
relented upon a bed of sickness), and, as he 
fondly hoped, to his own gray hairs; sentiments of 
independence buoyed up his mind; pictures of do- 
mestic content and peace rose in his imagination ; 
and a few weeks passed away, the most tranquil, if 
not the happiest, which he had experienced for some 
time. His fame naturally drew upon him the atten- 
tion of his neighbors in the district in which he lived, 
and he was received at the table of the gentlemen of 
Nithdale with welcome, with kindness and respect. 
It is to be lamented that at this critical period of his 
life he was without the restraining influences of the 
society of his wife, for a great change had 
taken place in his situation; his old habits were 
broken, and he brooded in melancholy abstraction 
upon his past glories in Edinburgh and his wrongs, 
while thoughts of Highland Mary constantly filled 
his waking hours, and caused him to forget the good 
resolutions he had formed, in his desire to drown 
recollections. The social parties to which he was 
invited too often seduced him from his rustic labor 
and his plain rustic food, and overthrew the unsteady 


HIGHLAND MARY 293 

fabric of his resolutions, inflaming those propen- 
sities which temperance might have weakened, and 
prudence finally suppressed. It was not long, there- 
fore, before Robert began to view his farm with dis- 
like and despondence, if not with disgust. Before his 
advent into Edinburgh society, and during his so- 
journ there, he had refrained from the habitual use 
of strong liquors. But in Dumfries the sins that so 
easily beset him continually presented themselves, 
and though he clearly foresaw the consequences of 
yielding to them, his appetite and sensations, which 
could not prevent the dictates of his judgment, 
finally triumphed over the power of his will. 

His great celebrity made him an object of interest 
and curiosity to strangers, and few persons of culti- 
vated minds passed through Dumfries without at- 
tempting to see the poet, and to enjoy the pleasure 
of his conversation. As he could not receive them 
under his own humble roof these interviews passed 
at the inns of the towns, and often terminated in 
excesses, which Robert was seldom able to resist. 
Indeed, there were never wanting persons to share 
his social pleasures, to lead or accompany him to the 
tavern, to partake in the wildest sallies of his wit, or 
to witness the strength and degradation of his genius. 

Unfortunately he had for several years looked to 
an office in the excise as a certain means of livelihood, 
should his other expectations fail. He had been 
recommended to the Board of Excise before leaving 


294 HIGHLAND MARY 


Mossgiel, and had received the instructions neces- 
sary for such a situation. He now applied to be 
employed regularly, and was immediately appointed 
exciseman, or gauger, as it is vulgarly called, of the 
district in which he lived. His farm was after this, 
in a great measure, abandoned to servants, while he 
betook himself to the duties of his new appointment. 
To be sure he could still be seen at intervals directing 
his plow, a labor in which he excelled, but it was 
not at Ellisland that he was now in general to be 
found. Mounted on horseback, our hero was pursu- 
ing the defaulters of the revenue among the hills 
and vales of Nithdale, his roving eye wandering over 
the charms of nature, and muttering his wayward 
fancies as he moved along. Though by nature of an 
athletic form, Robert had in his constitution the 
peculiarities and delicacies that belong to the 
temperament of genius. Endowed by nature with 
great sensibility of nerves, he was in his corporeal, 
as well as in his mental system, liable to Inordinate 
impressions, to fever of the body, as well as of mind. 
This predisposition to disease, which strict temper- 
ance in diet, regular exercise, and sound sleep might 
have subdued, habits of a very diiBPerent nature, 
strengthened and inflamed. 

The following year Jean and her bairns came to 
live at Ellisland. He received them with quiet affec- 
tion, and Jean, who had grown strangely humbled 
and passive, did her utmost to please him at all 


HIGHLAND MARY 295 

times, never referring to the past, and tactfully 
avoiding all irritating subjects, and by her soothing 
presence, her loving words of comfort and sym- 
pathy, soon made her presence indispensable to her 
moody husband. Another year passed by, a year 
of anxiety for Jean, who was compelled to witness 
her husband’s lapses from sobriety, which now came 
so often, and to watch his health decline slowly, but 
surely, in consequence. In the midst of all his wan- 
derings Robert met nothing in his domestic circle 
but gentleness and forgiveness, except the gnawings 
of his own remorse. He acknowledged his transgres- 
sions to his patient wife, promised amendment, and 
again received pardon for his offenses. But as the 
strength of his body decayed, his resolution became 
feebler, and habit acquired predominating strength. 

All this time Robert had entertained hopes of pro- 
motion in the exercise, but circumstances occurred 
which retarded their fulfillment, and which in his own 
mind destroyed all expectation of their ever being 
fulfilled. His steady friend, Mr. Mackenzie, inter- 
posed his good offices in his behalf, however, and he 
was suffered to retain his situation, but given to 
understand that his promotion was deferred, and 
must depend on his future behavior. This circum- 
stance made a deep impression on Robert. He 
fancied that everyone held him in contemptuous pity, 
as a man of some genius who had dwindled into a 
paltry exciseman, and who was slinking out the rest 


296 HIGHLAND MARY 


of his insignificant existence in the meanest of pur- 
suits, and among the lowest of mankind; and for 
days he would sit quietly on the banks of the river 
plunged in the gloomiest meditation. 

About this time he received word of Lord Glen- 
cairn’s death. The news plunged him into another 
fit of melancholy gloom, lessened somewhat, however, 
by the assurance that his noble benefactor had died 
knowing the truth, believing in Robert’s innocence, 
and asking his forgiveness. 

As his health declined his thoughts became more 
and more fixed upon Mary, who was once more in 
Mossgiel at Colonel Montgomery’s. He yearned 
with bitter longing to gaze upon her sweet face again, 
to hear her dear voice speak his name. These thoughts 
he strove vainly to conquer, to banish from his mind, 
for Jean’s patience and goodness, her loving for- 
bearance, filled him with shame at his own unworthi- 
ness. But she gave no sign of the bitter heartache 
she endured. She accepted it all in patient resig- 
nation, striving by uniform prudence and good man- 
agement to relieve his distress of mind regarding 
the material welfare of his little flock. 

Toward the end of spring he contracted a severe 
cold while in reckless pursuit of an offender, in a 
driving rain storm, and, having caught the guilty 
one, he celebrated the event at the inn, in company 
with some congenial spirits, seated in his wet clothes, 
the result being an attack of rheumatism, which laid 


HIGHLAND MARY 297 

him upon a bed of sickness for some weeks. His 
salary was but a small one, hardly sufficient to keep 
his family from want, and though hitherto his farm 
had yielded him a comfortable living, for some 
months it had been left to run itself, with the inevit- 
able results. Planting time had come and gone, and 
still his ground lay all untouched. His laborers had 
refused to work for him longer without pay, and 
Souter Johnny, who was now making his home at 
Ellisland, could only attend to the lighter chores 
about the farm. And now things began to take a 
serious outlook for our hero and his family. Though 
sick and discouraged, with want staring him in the 
face, he still sent glowing reports of his continued 
prosperity to his loved ones in Mossgiel, reports that 
filled their anxious hearts with false hopes and prayer- 
ful thankfulness. 


CHAPTER XXI 


One day during Robert’s early convalescence, 
Souter, after having finished his chores, sauntered 
leisurely through the vegetable garden. It was a 
peaceful nook, and there were household odors of 
mint, and thyme, and boy’s love, which were pleasant 
to the soul of Souter Johnny, and reminded him of 
stewed rabbit, which he dearly loved, with all its 
attendant delicacies. He paced the path slowly, the 
light of the sinking sun blazing gloriously upon the 
brilliant gown of his companion, who was simpering 
along beside him, her little gray eyes looking down 
on him with flattering interest as she listened with 
apparent delight to his tales of daring adventure. 
Finally their conversation drifted to the sick man 
within. 

“ Poor bonnie laddie,” sighed Eppy dolefully. 

To think of him being so ill. We all loved him 
dearly in Edinburgh.” 

“ He hasna’ been the same lad since he returned 
from there,” replied Souter. ‘‘ He had many great 
disappointments in his young life, I tell ye,” and he 
shook his head dismally. “ An’ noo everything has 
gone to the dogs wi’ him, ever since he has been 
in Ellisland. ’Twas a sorry day when he became an 
298 


HIGHLAND MARY 299 

exciseman, say I.” He paused a moment reflec- 
tively, then continued earnestly, “ But no matter 
what anybody says different, he has always done his 
duty faithfully, always on the tramp in all kinds of 
weather, till at last his robust constitution has given 
out, an’ he bowled over, so to speak.” He loyally 
refrained from mentioning that Robert’s illness was 
partly due to his imprudent way of living. 

Eppy sighed again. And he the Bard of Scot- 
land,” she returned commiseratingly. “ How I pity 
him. Isn’t it sad Mr. MacDougall.? ” 

‘‘ Aye,” replied Souter, with a quick look from 
under his shaggy eyebrows. ‘‘Ye hae a kind heart 
in ye. Miss McKay,” he observed after a pause. 

“ Do you really think so.^ ” she simpered. “ I 
fear you are a base flatterer, Mr. MacDougall. In 
Edinburgh there were so many who flattered me, who 
sought for my favors, that I became wearied of it 
all, and longed for a change. That is why I came 
here to Ayrshire and purchased the farm adjoining, 
that I might rest during the summer.” 

“ And then ye’ll be leaving us ? ” asked Souter 
with a deep sigh. 

“ Perhaps not,” and she looked at him coquet- 
tishly. “ Would anyone care if I did return to 
town.^ ” she insinuated slyly. 

“ ’Tis a wonder that such a bonnie lassie as ye 
should still be a maiden,” he observed abruptly with 
a sly look out of the corner of his eye. 



300 HIGHLAND MARY 


“ Oh, I have had many offers,” she answered air- 
ily, though her heart fluttered with a newly-born 
hope. 

‘‘ Do ye ne’er get lonely. Miss McKay ? ” 

She sighed and cast down her eyes. “ Yes, I do,” 
she declared plaintively, “ and I’m lonely now in that 
great big house with only a servant for company.” 

“ Souter J ohnny,” said Souter to himself, “ this 
is the chance of your lifetime ; go in and win a home.” 
Having arrived at this resolution, he cleared his 
throat and pausing in his walk, faced the simpering 
old lady. “ Mum, ye see before ye,” he remarked, 
not without some nervousness, “ a single man, like 
yoursel’. Not from necessity, och nae; Souter 
Johnny, before he lost his handsome looks, could hae 
had his pick o’ any o’ the lassies, but I hae waited 
till noo ” he paused impressively. 

“Till now, Mr. MacDougall.?’ ” she repeated 
breathlessly, eager to have him continue. 

“ Weel, noo I hae found her,” he answered, “ an’ 
she’s what I hae been lookin’ for a’ my life.” 

“ How romantic you are,” she cried soulfully, with 
an admiring look. 

“ Aye, that I am, ’tis bom in me,” he responded. 
“ Do ye mind if I smoke, mum ? ” he asked carelessly. 
He took out of his waistcoat pocket his old black 
pipe and held it in his hand. 

“ Oh, no,” she gushed. “ I love to see you smoke, 
’tis so manly.” 


HIGHLAND MARY 301 

Having lighted his pipe and got it drawing to his 
satisfaction, he turned to her once more, and re- 
marked casually, “ Would ye call me too old to get 
married? I’m askin’ your advice noo.” He looked 
at her quizzically. 

She shook her head vigorously in the negative. 
‘‘ Age does not matter at all,” she observed sagely. 
“ The question is do you feel peart? ” and she re- 
garded him with anxious eyes. 

A grim smile played around S outer’s lips. Re- 
moving his pipe, he replied with convincing firmness, 
“ Never was sick in my life, strong and healthy. 
Feel my muscle!” and he held out his doubled arm 
to the timid Eppy, who shrank away bashfully. “ It 
willna’ hurt ye,” he declared. Thus encouraged, she 
gingerly touched it with one finger. “ Fine, isn’t 
it?” he asked proudly. Before she could answer 
he continued, “ I have a fine appetite, mum, an’ I 
dinna’ feel my age. Noo I ask ye, am I too ugly to 
be looked at, mum? Dinna’ be afraid to tell me the 
truth.” He held up his head, straightened his bent 
shoulders and stood awaiting her reply. 

She eyed him a moment in silence. Well, Mr. 
MacDougall,” she said doubtfully, after a pause, ‘‘ I 
must confess you’re no beauty.” A look of disap- 
pointment came over Souter’s face, seeing which 
she hastened to reassure him. ‘‘ But I care not for 
looks, Mr. MacDougall,” she cried earnestly. “ One 
could get used to you. I’ve heard it said that one 


302 HIGHLAND MARY 


can get used to anything in time,” and she smiled 
sweetly into his downcast face. 

He gave her a quick look. 

“ Is it as bad as that.^* ” he returned reflectively. 
‘‘ Weel, looks is all a matter of taste. And noo let’s 
get down to business.” Eppy gave a start and her 
hands fluttered about nervously, as she waited for 
his next words. “ Do ye think, mum, this sweet, 
lovely lassie I hae in my mind would hae me for a 
husband ” he insinuated softly. 

She gave a little gasp. This is so sudden,” she 
simpered, then broke off abruptly — he hadn’t asked 
her yet. Er — why don’t you ask the beautiful las- 
sie. She might think of it.” She coyly looked down 
upon him from under her big bonnet. 

Souter threw down his pipe in his earnestness. “ I 
will,” he ejaculated quickly, his eyes sparkling with 
triumph. “ ’Tis your ain bright sel’ for whom my 
heart is yearnin’. Will ye hae me, Eppy.^ ” 

Eppy closed her eyes in blissful content. “ My 
first proposal,” she thought joyfully. Opening her 
eyes, she gazed at him fondly. ‘‘ Oh, I don’t want to 
make a mistake now,” she cried, half frightened, but 
she had no intention of refusing him, however. 

“ Dinna’ fear,” replied Souter eagerly. “ I’ll 
attend to that ; there’ll be no mistake made. I’ll war- 
rant ye.” 

“ You’re such a masterful man,” she exclaimed, 
with an admiring look, ‘‘ and — well, there’s no 


HIGHLAND MARY 303 

gainsaying you. I must confess a real live man 
about the house would be most comforting — to my 
sister, Sibella — and — and me, so I — I’ll have you, 
Souter,” and she threw herself into his arms with a 
cry of joy and thankfulness. 

“ Thank ye, thank ye, mum,” said Souter grate- 
fully. “ I feel as if I had won the prize ticket in a 
grand lottery.” He heaved a great sigh of bliss- 
ful content as he thought of the big house across 
the way. “ There noo, my pipe is out again,” he 
observed, after a little pause, and he calmly turned 
his back and proceeded to relight it, leaving Eppy 
regarding him with reproachful eyes and pouting 
lips. 

“ Souter,” she finally faltered, “ I — I thought 
you were more romantic. We haven’t sealed our 
engagement by a — a ” 

“A — what?” asked Souter concernedly. “Is 
there something mair to do ? ” 

She sidled up to him, giggling bashfully, and after 
turning to see if they were observed, she put her arm 
around his neck and said pensively : 

“ Gin a body meet a body cornin’ thro’ the rye. 

Gin a body kiss a body, need a body cry.” 

A comical look of comprehension dawned on 
Souter’s face. “O — oh! I see, ’tis a kiss ye mean,” 
he answered lightly. “ Weel, noo. I’ll na’ stop ye 


304 HIGHLAND MARY 


if ye want to kiss me. If you can stand it, I can,” 
and he held his face up to hers, for she towered a 
foot above him. With a sudden dart, a downward 
sweep of her head, she glued her lips to the little 
man’s, then with a resounding smack she released 
him, with a sigh of absolute content upon her homely 
face. ‘‘ Weel, noo, that’s not half bad,” observed 
Souter, smacking his lips reflectively. 

“ Now, Souter,” declared Eppy decidedly, after 
they had walked a few paces in quiet, “ since you 
are a Highlander, you must wear the kilt, to please 
me ; and it must be the tartan of our clan.” 

Souter threw up his hands in amazed horror. 
“ Oh, dearie, dinna’ ask me to do that ; I canna’ wear 
the kilt; I am na’ built that way,” and he looked 
down at his legs with whimsical seriousness. 

‘‘ Then I’ll not marry you,” she declared with 
apparent firmness. 

Souter hurriedly explained in trembling fear. 
“ I’ll tell ye the truth, dearie : when I last wore the 
kilt the laddies laughed at my crooked legs an’ 
called me a scarecrow, an’ I swore then I’d ne’er 
show my bare legs to mortal man again. Would ye 
hae me expose my miserable defects, womman?” 

She stood off and let her eyes rove slowly down 
his nether extremities with the air of a connoisseur. 
“ I protest they do not look so badly,” she observed 
encouragingly. 

“ Looks are deceivin’, lassie,” quickly replied 





“ ‘ Keep on turning,’ she commanded 



HIGHLAND MARY 305 

Souter, who objected seriously to kilts. “ My legs 
are na’ my beauty point, for a’ that; they are just 
twa wee bones, I tell ye, so be prepared for the 
worst,” and he shook his head dolefully. 

‘‘ Oh, well, as Mr. Burns says, ‘ A man’s a man, 
for a’ that ! ’ ” she replied sweetly. Then after a 
moment’s reflection, she asked with tender solicitude, 
“ Are they so very wee, Souter.^ ” 

‘‘ Aye, ye should see them,” he replied eagerly, 
hoping to convince her as to his unfitness to wear 
the dress. 

Eppy held up her hands before her face in horror. 
“Whatever are you saying, Souter.?” 

“ Weel, my legs are a maist sensitive subject wi’ 
me, my dear,” he returned apologetically. 

“ Turn around,” she commanded. He did so in 
wonder. “ Keep on turning,” she commanded. “ I 
think, mayhap, they’re not so bad,” she observed 
after a critical inspection. “ However, after we are 
wed I can decide better whether ye can wear the kilt 
or not.” 

Souter regarded her in meek astonishment, then 
he humbly rejoined, “ Weel, if ye can stand their 
looks. I’ll na’ complain, but it’s o’er chilly at times,” 
and he shivered apprehensively. 

She laughed gayly. “ Now, Souter, I must go 
home. Come over soon, you masterful man ! ” 

“ Aye, the first thing in the morning,” retorted 
Souter calmly, “ an’ I’ll bring the minister wi’ me.” 


306 HIGHLAND MARY 

“ The minister ! Why bring him ? ” asked Eppy in 
amazement. 

“ To marry us, my dear,” replied Souter quietly. 

“You must be daft man!” she cried in sudden 
alarm. 

Souter shook his head. “ Ye’d better take no 
chances,” he retorted calmly. “ I may change my 
mind,” and he carefully knocked the ashes out of his 
pipe and put it in his pocket. 

• “You impatient man ! ” fluttered Eppy. “ I — I 
— come over and we’ll talk about it. Good-by, 
laddie,” and she tripped daintily off down the path 
toward the gate. 

Then Souter sat down on the seat under the big 
tree beside the house. “ Souter J ohnny,” he said to 
himself, “ ye’re a devil with the wimmen, mon,” and 
a smile of self-satisfaction stole over his wrinkled 
face. 

“Souter Johnny!” panted Eppy, running back 
to him breathlessly, “ I’ve changed my mind.” 

Souter jumped to his feet in sudden terror. Had 
he lost her after all, or rather, had he lost the home 
across the way.? “W — what, do you mean?” he 
stammered. 

“ I mean — you — you — may bring the minister,” 
she gasped, and away she fluttered down the walk 
before he could recover from his astonishment. 

“ Hurrah ! your fortune is made, Souter Johnny ! ” 
he cried aloud, when the meaning of her words had 


HIGHLAND MARY 307 

dawned upon him, and he threw his bonnet high in 
the air. “ Ye’ll nae hae to cobble shoes any mair, 
noo, for ye’ll be lord of the manor house, wi’ serv- 
ants to wait on ye. Oh, the power of money! ye’ll 
ride out in your fine carriage, Souter, and as ye 
drive by, all the neighbors will be bowing and scrap- 
ing to ye. I can see them noo. ’Twill be ‘ Mr. Mac- 
Dougall, will ye do us the honor to call at the castle ; 
her ladyship would be pleased to see you.’ Then I’ll 
say to them that snubbed me when I was poor, ‘ Weel, 
noo, ’tis very busy I am, attending to my estates and 
other social duties. Tell her grace that Mr. and 
Mrs. MacDougall will be pleased to have her visit 
us at MacDougall House, if she cares to meet us.’ ” 
And he stalked along majestically to the house with 
his head held proudly erect. “ Noo, I’ll find the 
minister and make sure of my bird.” Arriving at 
the door of the cottage, he stopped, and addressing 
an imaginary butler, said pompously, ‘‘ James, open 
the door, your master wishes to enter! Thank ye! 
Noo take my hat! Noo ye may go!” With a 
chuckle of dehght he quietly opened the door and 
composing his features into their natural expression, 
entered the cottage and made his way to the kitchen, 
where he found a bowl of porridge awaiting him, 
which he hungrily devoured. 

Meanwhile in the other room Robert lay tossing 
feverishly upon his bed. Jean sat beside him 
smoothing his pillow from time to time, and sooth- 


308 HIGHLAND MARY 


ing his anguished mind with words of love and 
encouragement. 

“Blessings on your faithful head, Jean,” he mur- 
mured gratefully. “ You’re the best, truest wife that 
erring mortal man ever had.” She flushed with 
pleasure at his words of praise. “ Oh, this accursed 
rheumatism,” he groaned. “ How it shackles one, 
making one as much a prisoner as though a ball 
and chain were attached to his ankle.” 

“ But you are much better to-day,” said J ean 
brightly. 

“ For a while only. I fear me this is my fatal 
illness,” he replied despondently. 

“Don’t say that, Robert; you’ll be on your feet 
in a few days now,” and she looked hopefully into his 
worn and haggard face. 

He pressed her hand gently. “ I haven’t been 
the best of husbands, lass,” he said after a pause. 
“ I have sore tried your patience and your love 
ofttimes, by my unfaithfulness, my unworthiness.” 

“ I do not complain, Robert,” she answered 
quietly. 

“ No, ye have never done that,” he said with a 
tender smile, “ frequent though my lapses in so- 
briety and propriety have been.” He paused 
thoughtfully ; presently he continued in mournful re- 
flection, “ But I was punished for those sins after- 
ward, for then came remorse, shame, regret, the three 
hell hounds that ever dog my steps and bay at my 
heels.” 


HIGHLAND MARY 309 

If it is God’s will ” began Jean, but he 

interrupted her. 

“ Ah, no, Jean,” he replied bitterly. “ ’Tis not 
God’s will that I should be here, racked with pain 
and tortured by the sins that come staring me in the 
face, each one telling a more bitter tale than his 
fellow. ’Tis only the result of my own headstrong 
folly.” She wiped away the drops of perspiration 
from his brow with tender fingers, while he lay pant- 
ing from the excitement that the recital of his sor- 
rows had occasioned. 

“ There, do not distress yourself with such bitter 
thoughts,” she told him gently. What is done, is 
done, and all our sins will be blotted out in that 
other life.” 

“ That other life,” he repeated dreamily. ‘‘ Can 
it be possible that when I resign this feverish being 
I shall find myself in conscious existence, enjoying 
and enjoyed.? Would to God I as firmly believed it 
as I ardently wish it. If there is another life,” he 
continued with a flash of his old whimsical bright- 
ness, “ it must be for the just, the benevolent, the 
amiable only, and the good. I’m sore afraid Rob 
Bums will na’ be able to get even a peep through 
the Pearly Gates.” 

“ Hush, dear,” replied Jean with tender reproach. 
“ ’Twill be open to all. ‘ Let whosoever will, come 
and have eternal life,’ the Master said.” 

He mused a while on that sweet thought. “ Ah, 
weel, just noo,” he returned with a sigh, “ this life 


310 HIGHLAND MARY 


is what we must face, and which I must cling to as 
long as I can for the sake of mj httle flock. Pov- 
erty and misfortune must be overcome, and at once. 
Our salvation now lies in my getting the supervisor- 
ship and increased salary ; then we need have no fear 
of the future; we can laugh at fate.” 

“ You sent your last poem, ‘ Prettiest maid on 
Devon’s bank,’ to Mr. Thompson, didn’t ye, laddie.? ” 
asked Jean anxiously. 

“ Aye,” he replied, closing his eyes wearily. 
“ And I implored him for God’s sake to send me 
a few pounds to tide me over the present, till I got 
my promotion. I am not asking a loan, ’tis a 
business transaction,” he continued proudly, ‘‘ and 
I ken he will send whatever he is able to spare. 
He is a good friend, and it grieves me bitterly to 
be obliged to ask help of him to keep us from starv- 
ing. But,” and a note of independence crept into 
his voice, “ my song is worth whatever he sends.” 

“ Hunger and want can humble the most independ- 
ent spirit,” returned Jean sadly. She rose and 
walked to the window and looked out into the twi- 
light with searching, anxious eyes. “ Posty should 
bring us an answer to-night,” she murmured. 

“ An’ he will,” cried Robert hopefully, “ for 
Thompson willna’ disappoint me, for he kens I am 
in sore straits.” 

“Heaven bless him!” cried Jean fervently. 


CHAPTER XXII 


The next day our hero was in better health and 
spirits, and insisted upon being up and dressed. 
Jean, not without secret misgivings, got him into 
his clothes and helped him to the rocking-chair, 
which she had drawn up to the open window. For 
a while he sat there in silent content, bathed in the 
warm, golden light of the morning sun, whose genial 
beams seemed to infuse new vigor into his languid 
frame, while the gentle summer wind blew upon him 
with its exhilarating, refreshing warmth. After Jean 
had performed her household duties she returned to 
find him playing happily with their two boys, tell- 
ing them tale after tale, while they sat perched on 
either arm of the big rocker, their eyes popping out 
of their round, healthy faces with excited interest. 
He looked up as she entered and smiled into her 
anxious face. 

“ Do not tire yourself, Robert,” she cautioned him 
gently. “ Come, lads, run out doors and play a wee, 
your father is tired.” But they clung to him 
affectionately. 

“ One mair story,” they pleaded. 

“ Tell us aboot Tam O’Shanter’s ride ! ” com- 
manded Robert, Jr., gravely. Jean sat down while 
311 


312 HIGHLAND MARY 


he recited the stirring tale, and watched her husband 
with eyes aglow with love and pity. How changed 
he was, she thought with a sigh. What havoc had 
been wrought in that sturdy frame, that fine con- 
stitution, in the once ringing tones of his musical 
voice. Alas, all had flown, but with God’s help she 
would win him back to health and strength once 
more, she told herself with resolute determination. 
As he finished he kissed the earnest faces held up to 
his with such worshipful affection, and with a serious 
‘‘ Thank ye, father,” they turned and marched quietly 
out of the room and into the open air, and soon their 
childish treble floated in through the open window, 
bringing a smile of amused affection to the faces 
of their parents. 

‘‘ Now, Robert, ye must be tired out,” remarked 
Jean presently. “ Will ye not try and get a 
nappie ? ” 

“ In a wee, Jean,” he answered, looking out of the 
window thoughtfully. 

“ Then you must have a bittie of gruel now,” 
she said, rising and going toward the door. 

“ Nay, nay, Jean, I thank ye, but I canna’ eat nor 
drink nor sleep just at present.” 

‘‘ Then try and take a nappie,” she insisted, 
smoothing the pillows and sheets in anxious prepa- 
ration. 

“A little later, Jean,” he replied a trifle im- 
patiently. 


HIGHLAND MARY 313 

She sighed patiently. ‘‘Then I’ll leave ye for 
a while,” and she walked toward the door. “ Ye’re 
quite comfortable.? ” she asked. He nodded. Slowly 
she closed the door upon him and applied herself to 
the task of getting the midday meal. 

Presently, a knock on the door startled her, in- 
terrupting her meager preparations. Hastily wiping 
her hands on her apron, she opened it, and there on 
the threshold stood two richly dressed strangers. 
“ From the city,” she mentally said, noticing the 
elegance of their attire. 

Courteously raising his high conical blue silk hat, 
the younger man addressed her. “ Is not this Mis- 
tress Burns, whom I have the honor to address ? ” 
he asked. 

“ I am Mistress Burns,” replied Jean with dignity. 

“We have come to see your husband. Will you 
inform him, my dear madam, that his friend Henry 
Mackenzie would be pleased to converse with him.” 

Jean opened wide the door, a look of pleasure on 
her face. “ Please to enter,” she said quietly. They 
did so. She showed them into the living-room and 
bade them be seated. “ Robert will be out directly,” 
she said, and hastily went to tell Robert of their 
arrival. 

“ So this is where Scotland’s Bard lives,” remarked 
Mr. Mackenzie, looking about the room critically. 
“ This cheerless hut, which bespeaks naught but 
poverty. Poor Burns, I pity him.” 


314 HIGHLAND MARY 


“ ’Tis all his own fault,” testily replied his com- 
panion. 

“ I am not so sure of that, Sir William,” said Mr. 
Mackenzie with a swift look at him. “ I have always 
believed and maintained that Burns was innocent of 
that monstrous charge my Lady Glencaim brought 
against him, even though you did confess to being an 
eye witness of the occurrence. However, she has re- 
ceived her just deserts. She is at last totally 
ostracized.” 

“ Do ye mean to say ” sputtered Sir William. 

Mr. Mackenzie raised his hand in a stately ges- 
ture. ‘‘ I really do not care to discuss it. Sir 
William. But at last Edinburgh is beginning to 
realize how cruelly they have misjudged him, and 
they would welcome him back again, but I fear his 
pride and independence will prevent his accepting 
any assistance whatever.” 

Sir William gave a snort of impatience. “ I 
cannot waste my sympathy on him,” he said angrily. 
“ I am dispatched here to do my duty, and I must 
do it,” and his mouth set in a straight, determined 
line. 

‘‘ ’Tis a duty that for once is uncommon pleasant 
to you,” replied Mackenzie sarcastically. There 
was silence for a moment, then he continued, “ I 
take it, the decision of the Board is final.? ” he asked. 

“ Aye, ’tis irrevocable, sir,” replied Sir William 
gruffly. 


HIGHLAND MARY 315 

“ And he must live on here as a poor exciseman,” 
murmured Mackenzie half to himself, ‘‘ Live ! In 
sooth ’tis but an existence,” and he strode to the 
window in sudden perturbation and gazed thought- 
fully out upon the untilled land. 

The door of the chamber opened and Robert 
entered the room, a smile of pleasure lighting up 
his face. Mr. Mackenzie stepped eagerly forward 
and clasped his hand and shook it warmly. 

‘‘ I am uncommon glad to see ye beneath my hum- 
ble roof,” said Rob earnestly, “ and that ye havena’ 
forgotten poor, hopeless Robert Burns.” 

Mackenzie led him to a chair. “ Indeed, I have 
not,” he replied brightly. ‘‘ Believe me, Mr. Burns, 
when I say that I prize your friendship above that 
of all men I know.” 

Robert was about to reply, when he caught sight 
of Sir William Creech watching them impatiently. 
He gave a great start and rose to his feet. 

Sir William Creech ! ” he said slowly and bitterly. 

To what do I owe this visit ? ” 

“ I come on a matter of business,” replied Sir 
William, a flush rising to his cheek. 

“ What business can ye have with me noo ” asked 
Robert with rising anger. “ Perjurer, have ye come 
to gloat over the man ye helped ruin by your 
iniquitous falsehood .f’ It isna’ good news ye bring, 
I warrant ye, else ye would not be the bearer of it.” 
And he gave a scornful little laugh. 


316 HIGHLAND MARY 

“ Insulting as ever, Robert Burns,” snarled Sir 
William, a red spot of anger on each cheek, his 
eyes flashing wickedly. ‘‘ Well, I’ll state my busi- 
ness briefly. Ye wrote to the Board of Commis- 
sioners for the position of supervisor in the 
excise. Your request has been voted on and was 
refused.” He spat the words out with vindictive 
satisfaction. 

“Refused!” gasped Rob incredulously. He had 
felt so confident that the position would be given him. 
He sat down weakly in his chair, dazed for a moment. 
“ But my name has been on the list of promotion for 
months,” he told them dully. 

“ ’Twas scratched off some weeks ago.” 

“ Scratched off and why.? ” 

“ Because of your Jacobite tendencies,” replied 
Sir William coldly. “ Many reports concerning 
your disloyal sentiments to your country have 
reached the Board, which utterly ruined any chance 
ye might have had of promotion.” 

Robert sat with bowed head, crushed by his dis- 
appointment. “ Again must I drink deeply of the 
cup of humiliation and disappointment 1 ” he cried 
bitterly. Presently he looked up at Mr. Mackenzie 
with a grim smile on his trembling face. “ I am at 
last persuaded, Mr. Mackenzie, that it was of me the 
Hebrew sage prophesied when he foretold, ‘ and be- 
hold, on whatsoever this man doth set his heart, it 
shall not prosper.’ ” His head dropped on his chest 


HIGHLAND MARY 317 

— his hands clenched the sides of the chair with de- 
spairing intensity. Suddenly he jumped to his feet, 
his face set and drawn, his eyes wild and flashing 
with bitter anger. ‘‘ My curse on those damned 
informers, who have blasted my hopes,” he exclaimed 
hoarsely. “ May the devil be let loose to torture 
them to madness.” Then he sank down in his chair 
exhausted by his passion, his face pale and quiv- 
ering. 

Mr. Mackenzie hastened to his side, fearful of the 
consequences of the excitement on his frail consti- 
tution. Presently Robert spoke again, but in a 
weak, broken voice. 

“ My last hope is torn from me,” he said despair- 
ingly. “ What shall I do now.? Ah, Mr. Mackenzie, 
I have felt all the sweetness of applause in my short 
life, but I am now experiencing the bitterness of the 
after-taste.” And the pitiful little smile, the pathetic 
catch in his voice, strangely moved the heart of his 
listener. 

“ Pardon my question, Mr. Burns,” said he, “ but 
surely the excise allows you a salary.? ” 

Rob laughed mirthlessly. “ Aye,” he replied, 
“ the munificent sum of thirty pounds a year.” 

“ Thirty pounds a year ! ” repeated Mackenzie 
incredulously. 

“ Aye, only half of which I am getting now,” 
explained Robert bitterly. “Ye see I am ill and off 
duty.” 


318 HIGHLAND MARY 


“ And are there no royalties on your songs or 
published collection coming to you?” 

“ Ask Sir William,” retorted Robert bitterly. 

“ There is no demand for your poems since you 
left Edinburgh,” replied Sir William crustily. “ The 
youth Walter Scott has taken your place in their 
regard. He shows a remarkable talent for rhym- 
ing.” And a malicious smile appeared on his crafty 
face as he noted the quick flush appear on the ex- 
pressive countenance of the sick man. 

His quivering features betrayed how deeply the 
barbed dart had entered his heart. He turned to Mr. 
Mackenzie with a resigned little gesture, ‘‘Ye see, 
sir,” he faltered with a pathetic smile, “ how soon I am 
forgot.” He paused, and the weak tears of sickness 
welled up into his eyes; then he resumed with a 
shade of bitterness, “ Scott is sure to succeed, for 
he is of noble birth. He’ll not be patronized, at 
least.” 

Mr. Mackenzie had been thinking deeply, and now 
he turned to Robert with a resolute air. “ Mr. 
Burns,” he said earnestly, “ with your consent, I will 
go to the Board of Commissioners of Excise, of 
which the Duke of Gordon is the chairman, and move 
them to grant you full salary. They are well known 
to me and I am sure will not refuse my request.” 

A glad smile broke up Robert’s gloomy features. 
“ Ye are a friend, indeed ! ” he cried fervently. “ God 
grant they do not refuse you, for if they do, I must 


HIGHLAND MARY 319 

lay my account with an exit truly en poete, for if 
I die not with disease, I must perish with hunger.” 

Your interference will do no good here, Mr. 
Mackenzie,” hotly declared Sir William, glaring at 
Robert hatefully. 

“ I think it will,” returned Mr. Mackenzie coolly. 

’Twould be Lord Glencairn’s wishes were he alive, 
and his wishes will be respected by the Boards mark 
well what I tell you, ” and he flashed him a significant 
look of defiance. Then turning to Robert, he shook 
him by the hand and bade him adieu, saying that 
he must return at once to Edinburgh. “ And rest 
assured,” he concluded, ‘‘ I will inform you at once 
of the decision of the Board, which without doubt 
will be favorable. Cheer up, my man, Scotland will 
not allow her ablest son to die of want and neglect, 
if Henry Mackenzie can prevent it.” 

Heaven bless ye ! ” responded Robert gratefully. 

Mr. Burns, if you ” began Mr. Mackenzie, 

then he hesitated a moment, but finally after a mo- 
ment’s thought continued his sentence — ‘‘ if you 
will but accept a loan,” and his hand sought his 
pocket, but Robert shook his head decidedly. 

‘‘No, no, Mr. Mackenzie,” he said proudly; “I 
canna’ accept it, thank ye.” 

Mackenzie sighed. “ Oh, you sensitive people,” 
he remarked, “ pride and poverty.” 

“Ye see,” explained Robert gratefully, “ I ex- 
pect a few pounds from the sale of a poem, which 


320 HIGHLAND MARY 

will relieve my temporary embarrassment, and if 
the commissioners grant me full salary, I can start 
for the seaside, where I may regain my lost health.” 
He passed his hand wearily over his brow, which 
began to pain him, for the excitement had worn 
him out. “ But I fear that has flown from me for- 
ever, that the voice of the Bard will soon be heard 
among ye no mair.” 

“ Nonsense ! ” replied Mackenzie brightly, putting 
his hand affectionately on Robert’s shoulder. “ You 
will live for years yet, but you must take better care 
of this life which is so valuable to your family, to 
your friends and to the world.” There was deep 
concern in his pleasant voice and in his earnest eyes. 

At that moment the street door opened and Eppy 
appeared dressed youthfully in white, leading by the 
hand none other than Souter Johnny, who was look- 
ing decidedly crestfallen and sheepish, as he vainly 
tried to pull down his little short kilt over his thin, 
bony legs, for Souter was at last arrayed in full 
kilts, much to his evident sorrow. He looked ex- 
ceedingly grotesque, squeezed into the suit, which 
was too small even for his undersized frame. 

‘‘In the name of! — Souter Johnny, what means 
this ? ” gasped Robert in amazement. 

“ Canna’ a man wear the kilts without being 
laughed at?” answered Souter ruefully, resenting 
the amused look on their faces. 

“Well, I must say ye look better in breeches,” 


HIGHLAND MARY 321 

observed Rob with a quizzical glance at Souter’s 
grotesquely thin crooked legs. 

“ He wears them for my sake,” explained Eppy 
with a soulful look at the uncomfortable Souter; 
then she spied the visitors. “ Why, Mr. Mackenzie, 
it is good to see you here ! ” she exclaimed effusively, 
and she made him a deep courtesy, purposely igno- 
ring Sir William. 

“ Daft as ever,” grunted Sir William audibly. 

She regarded him with a haughty look of disdain. 

Daft ! ” she repeated. ‘‘ Huh ! you cannot insult 
me now with impunity ! ” she exclaimed in triumph. 
Turning to Souter, she called him to her side with 
a commanding gesture. 

Noo, ye see, Robert, what has become of my 
breeches,” whispered Souter in Robert’s ear as he 
passed him. “ She is wearing them,” and he winked 
his eye significantly. 

As he approached her, she reached out a long 
arm and drew him to her so suddenly that it took 
him off his feet. Finally he righted himself and 
stood close beside her, his little gray head, with the 
bonnet perched saucily on one side of it, scarcely 
reaching to her shoulder. 

“ Friends,” she announced proudly, “ this gen- 
tleman is my — my husband,” and she noticed with 
pleasure the look of consternation which appeared 
on all their faces. 

‘‘ What ! ” cried Robert aghast. 


322 HIGHLAND MARY 


‘‘You’re married!” ejaculated Mr. Mackenzie 
incredulously. 

“ Poor man,” sneered Sir William mockingly. 

Eppy tittered gleefully. “ Yes, I was married 
to-day, and ’tis heavenly,” and she rolled her eyes 
in an ecstasy of joy. 

“ Well, ’twas the best you could do, I suppose,” 
observed Sir William maliciously. 

“ I wouldn’t take you as a gift,” she flashed. 
“ And you tried hard enough to win me, dear 
knows,” she went on with total disregard for the 
truth. “ He was forever running after me,” she 
explained deprecatingly to S outer. 

“ You — you — you are not speaking the truth,” 
sputtered Sir William furiously. “ If I was run- 
ning it was to get away from you.” 

“ Oh, of course you won’t admit it now,” she 
observed calmly. “ But I am rejoicing that I didn’t 
marry you.” She looked Souter over critically. 
“ Well, Souter may not be very handsome,” she 
remarked thoughtfully after a pause, “ but he is 
a perfect picture in kilts,” and she gave a sigh of 
absolute content. 

“ Women are queer creatures,” whispered Souter 
to Robert deprecatingly, “ and my — ^my wife, ahem! 
weel, she’s the queerest of them a’.” 

“ Well, my friends,” laughed Mr. Mackenzie, “ I 
protest this time I must be off. Good-by, lad.” 

“ May blessings attend your steps and affliction 


HIGHLAND MARY 323 

know je not,” answered Robert fervently. ‘‘Ye 
might take Sir William along, for he looks maist 
uncomfortable amongst honest people ! ” he added 
dryly. 

Mackenzie laughed grimly and passed out, leaving 
Sir William to follow. 

“ Ye insulting pauper ! ” fumed Sir William, start- 
ing angrily for the door. 

“Ye can go back to your Edinburgh friends,” 
cried Robert with flashing eyes, “ an’ tell them that 
e’en though ye found me almost on the verge of 
despair, with oblivion hovering dark over my still 
independent head, that I yet live in the hope of 
seeing the prophecy I made to them all that night 
fulfilled, and that Sir William Creech, my worst tra- 
ducer, will be the first one to again court my favor.” 

“ I’ll hear no more such insulting language ! ” 
roared Sir William threateningly. 

“ Ye’ll not hear it t’other side of the door,” 
replied Robert quietly. 

“ Aye, but ye’ll get your fairin’ one of these 
days,” exclaimed Souter belligerently. “ An’ ’twill 
be in hell, where they’ll roast ye like a herrin’,” he 
added grimly, much to Eppy’s horror. 

“Open the door for me, fellow!” shouted Sir 
William wrathfully. 

“ Open it yoursel’,” replied Souter, “ an’ I promise 
ye I’ll shut it behind your coattails mighty quick.” 

“ Out of my way, idiot,” and with a shove he 


324 HIGHLAND MARY 

brushed the little man aside and swiftly joined his 
waiting companion outside the gate. 

‘‘ Did ye see that? ” gasped Souter, his eyes flash- 
ing fire. ‘‘ Did ye see that ? Let me get after him,’^ 
and he started for the door, with blood in his eyes, 
but Eppy with a little shriek of alarm grabbed 
him by the plaidie and held on to him with all her 
strength, which was not slight. 

“ Don’t, dearie, don’t, you might get hurt ! ” she 
cried tearfully. 

“ Weel, if ye say not, why I’ll let him gae,” re- 
turned Souter submissively. 

“ Come, Robert,” said Jean gently, “ you must lie 
down for a wee bit now.” 

By the way, Rob,” laughed Souter reminiscently, 

“ do ye mind the day ” He stopped short as 

Jean shook her head disapprovingly. 

“ He’s had a most exciting morning,” she exclaimed 
gently, “ and needs rest now. He’ll be feeling more 
peart to-morrow,” and she held out her hand in 
dismissal. 

“Ye mean get out, eh. Mistress?” said Souter 
good-naturedly. “ Weel, weel, Souter Johnny can 
take a hint.” 

“ Come, Souter,” called Eppy from the open door- 
way, where she had been impatiently waiting for her 
bridegroom, “ come with me to your — your new 
home,” and she bashfully held her fan over her face 
with a nervous little giggle. 


HIGHLAND MARY 325 

“ Aye, that I will,” replied Souter, with alacrity. 
He turned to Robert with a new air of dignity which 
set comically upon his little figure. “ If we can do 
anything for ye, Robert, dinna’ forget to send over 
to MacDougall House. Dinna’ forget my address. 
Mrs. MacDougall, my arm.” She grabbed it quickly 
and they walked to the door. “ God-day all,” he 
called over his shoulder, and with a feeling of great 
contentment, that at last his troubles were over, and 
that he was entering upon a new life of ease and 
plenty, he closed the door behind them, and trotted 
along beside his wife, grinning like a schoolboy, 
across the fields to their new home. 

“ Has the Posty come yet.^ ” inquired Robert, after 
they had gone. 

“ Yes, but he brought no letter for ye,” answered 
Jean sadly. 

The words of one of the verses of his ‘‘ Ode to a 
Mouse,” came to him with gloomy presentiment. 

“But, mousie, thou art no thy lane, 

In proving foresight may be vain ; 

The best-laid schemes o’ mice and men 
Gang aft agley; 

An’ lea’e us naught but grief an’ pain 
For promised joy; 

Still thou are blest compared wi’ me! 

The present only touchest thee; 

But och! I backward cast my e’e. 

On prospects drear’; 

An forward, tho’ I canna’ see, 

I guess and fear.” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


Later that day two men might have been seen gal- 
loping their horses at full speed toward the little 
house on the hillside. They were determined, reso- 
lute looking men, evidently bent on serious purpose. 
Finally they reached the gate, and dismounting made 
their way to the door, the elder man insisting loudly 
upon accompanying the other, much to his visible 
annoyance. 

“ There is no need for secrecy, Gilbert Burns,” 
said he grimly, and he followed him into the house 
and to the room where Robert sat with pencil in hand 
vainly courting his Muse. Jean, who was busily 
engaged in sewing, jumped to her feet with a little 
cry of amazement upon seeing her father before 
her. Robert held out his hand to his brother in de- 
lighted surprise, mixed with anxiety. 

“ Brother ! ” he cried, ‘‘ what brings ye to Ellls- 
land in such haste? Is it bad news? Mother, our 
sisters, are they ill? ” 

“ Nay,” replied Gilbert constrainedly. “ They 
are all well, Rob, and have sent their love to your- 
self and family.” 

“ Thank God for that,” responded Robert thank- 
326 


HIGHLAND MARY 327 

fully. There was a little embarrassed silence, then 
Gilbert spoke again. 

“ Robert, we — we are in sore trouble,” he con- 
fessed, his face anxious and troubled. 

Trouble ! ” echoed Rob blankly. ‘‘ What is 
wrong, brother.?” 

“ I cannot hold Mossgiel any longer,” he replied, 
dejectedly. ‘‘ The farm is but a wretched lease, as ye 
know, an’ I canna’ weather out the remaining year. 
Without assistance, Robert, I canna’ hope to hold 
our little family together any longer.” 

Robert’s heart sank within him as he heard the 
direful news. He glanced at Squire Armour appre- 
hensively. ‘‘ And Squire Armour ? ” he interrogated 
with an angry glance at that gentleman, who stood 
with a sneering smile on his harsh face, taking in the 
evidences of poverty that surrounded them. And with 
never a word of love or pity, nor of greeting to his 
daughter who sat there with white face and longing 
eyes, waiting to hear some news from her stern, im- 
placable father, of her loving mother at home. 

‘‘ I have bought the lease of Mossgiel,” he growled;, 
“an’ if your brother canna’ pay up the back rent, 
which is long past due, I shall seize everything and 
turn the whole lot of them out, every one.” 

Robert looked at him a moment in scornful silence. 
Presently he spoke, and the cutting sarcasm of his 
voice caused the old Squire to wince and drop his 
eyes. 


328 HIGHLAND MARY 


“ Ye are a most just, square, God-fearin’ man. 
Squire Armour,” he said. “ The Kirk should be 
proud of ye.” Turning to Gilbert, he asked him 
the amount of his debt. 

“ Only a matter of £4, brother,” he replied, ‘‘ but 
’tis a fortune to me at present.” 

“ An’ I must have the money to-day or the farm, 
I care not which.” 

“Oh, father!” cried Jean, going to him, “do 
not be hard on him ; he will pay you ; only give him 
time. ” 

“ Jean ! ” flashed Robert angrily, “ dinna’ stoop 
to ask mercy of that mon, even though he be your 
own father.” Jean turned away with a sigh. 

Squire Armour laughed derisively. “ Ye’ll both 
be on your knees before long. I’ll warrant,” he cried 
harshly, “ asking favors of me, especially when ye 
have naught to feed a starving family. Ye have 
made yoursel’ a fine, comfortable bed, my lassie, 
havena’ ye?” He sneered sarcastically, turning to 
his shrinking daughter. “ But ’tis made, and ye can 
lie on it, ye ungrateful minx.” 

Robert rose quickly to his feet, his eyes flashing 
dangerously. 

“ Stop I Squire Armour 1 ” he commanded. “ Dinna’ 
dare to use such language to my wife in my own 
house, or weak, sick, and crippled as I am, I will 
throw ye into the road like the cur that ye are.” 
He stopped, breathless with indignation. Presently 


HIGHLAND MARY 329 

lie resumed with immeasurable scorn in his vibrating 
voice, “ An’ they call such men as ye Christians ! 
A sneaking, crawling, psalm-singing, canting hypo- 
crite! Faugh! Were I the Lord, I would sicken at 
sight of ye.” He turned away and sat down beside 
his now weeping wife, and there was pity and com- 
passion in the look he bestowed upon her. 

“ I’ve had enough of your blasphemy, Robert 
Burns. If ye canna’ pay the rent for your brother, 
my business is elsewhere.” 

‘‘ I had no one else to turn to in this, my hour 
of trouble,” murmured Gilbert brokenly. “ If ye 
can help me without impoverishing yoursel’, for 
God’s sake do it, or I shudder to think what will 
become of the dear ones at home.” 

Robert was silent. He thought with anxious lov- 
ing concern of his own little flock, of the slender 
resources at his command, of the gravity of his 
own situation, sick as he was and with such gloomy 
prospects staring him in the face — and yet was he 
not better off after all than they at Mossgiel.'^ Had 
he not his salary, small as it was, and the promise 
of the supervisorship, besides the money that Thomp- 
son would pay him for his poem? He had much to 
thank God for, he thought gratefully. 

‘‘ I see ’tis no use delaying longer,” said Armour, 
looking at the serious, downcast faces before him. 
“ I have given ye fair warning, Gilbert Bums, an’ 
noo I’ll go.” 


330 HIGHLAND MARY 

He had reached the door, when Robert spoke 
quietly but firmly. “ Wait ! ” he called. “Ye shall 
have the money, ye Shylock.” 

“ Thank God ! ” cried Gilbert with a loving glance 
at his brother’s calm face. 

Jean looked at him in speechless amazement. 
What did he mean? How could he help others when 
they were in such dire need themselves ? she asked her- 
self apprehensively. 

“ Robert,” she whispered anxiously, “ ye dinna’ 
ken what ye say.” 

“ My brother will meet ye at sundown, at the Inn,” 
continued Robert without heeding her warning, al- 
though his face took on a whiter hue. “ He will 
bring ye every farthing of what is due ye. Noo 
go; there is the door; your business here is ended. 
Ye have brought naught but misery and trouble 
into my life by your unreasonable hatred o’ me, but 
the time will come. Squire Armour, when all the un- 
happiness and suffering ye have caused me and mine 
will rise up before ye like a hideous phantom, robbin’ 
ye of all peace o’ mind on earth, and your hopes of 
salvation hereafter.” He drew nearer the gaping 
man, who was regarding him with angry, sullen eyes, 
and continued with a bitter, unforgiving Intensity 
that filled his listeners with awe and horror, “ An’ 
when ye feel the chill icy hand of grim death clutch- 
ing at your heart, ye’ll cry out for the sympathy 
and love of those whom ye cast out of your life, but 


HIGHLAND MARY 331 

ye’ll cry in vain, an’ ye’ll die as ye have lived, a 
miserable wretched ending to a miserable selfish 
life.” 

As he finished his grim prophecy. Squire Armour 
gave a cry of nervous fear, and with blanched face 
and wild eyes he strove to speak, but the words would 
not pass his white, trembling lips. Finally he gasped 
in a frightened whisper which gradually rose to 
angry defiance: 

“ How dare ye ! How dare ye say such things 
to me, Robert Burns.? I willna’ die like that and ye 
canna’ frighten me with your grim forebodings.” 
He paused and glanced at them all in turn, then 
hastily opened the door. Just as he was stepping 
out, he turned slowly and looked at the white, patient 
face of his daughter. For a moment he regarded 
her in silence, then with a visible effort he addressed 
her. 

“ Jean,” he said, and his voice was noticeably 
softer, “ ye are welcome to come back to your home.” 
He cast a quick look at the lowering face of his son- 
in-law and added vindictively — ‘‘ alone.” 

‘‘Nay, never alone, father,” replied Jean sadly, 
looking at her husband’s frowning face. 

The old man turned with sudden fury upon them. 
“ I’ll wait till sundown for my money,” he shouted, 
“ but not a minute longer ! ” and he closed the door 
behind him with a vicious slam. 

Gilbert was first to break the depressing silence 


332 HIGHLAND MARY 


that ensued. He felt vaguely that all was not 
so well with his brother as he had been led to 
believe. 

‘‘ Forgive me, brother,” he murmured contritely, 
“ for bringing this trouble on ye.” 

‘‘ Never mind, Gilbert ; it was to be, I ken,” an- 
swered Rob absently. 

Gilbert was silent a moment. “ But the money, 

Robert, is it — are ye ” he stammered, then 

stopped in embarrassed confusion. 

“ ’Tis the sum I expect from the sale of a 
poem. Jean, see if there is aught of the Posty.” 
She rose and went to the window and peered anx- 
iously down the dusty road. 

“ I didna’ have the ready money with me,” went 
on Robert lightly, as if it were a matter of small 
importance, “ or I would have fixed it up at once. 
But ye shall hae the money, laddie, when my letter 
comes,” and he smiled reassuringly into Gilbert’s 
anxious face. 

“ God bless ye, Robert ; ye have taken a great load 
off my heart.” 

Jean returned to her seat by the hearth, and list- 
lessly took up her needlework. “ I fear Posty has 
forgotten us to-day,” she said in answer to Robert’s 
questioning look. 

A great fear seized his heart. For nearly a week 
he had hopefully awaited some word from Thompson. 
What could be the matter? “O God!” he prayed 



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HIGHLAND MARY 333 

silently, “ let him not fail me noo.” With a 
bright smile that sadly belied his anxious heart, he 
rose and, taking Gilbert’s arm, said gayly, “ Come, 
brother, and see the new bairn that has been added 
to the flock this last year.” 

As they left the room Jean dropped her work in 
her lap and gazed after them with eyes filled with 
helpless tears of anxiety, at the thought of the hard- 
ships and suffering that lay in wait for them all. 

After admiring the baby in the trundle bed the 
two brothers talked of the dear ones in Mossgiel, 
and the many changes time had wrought in the lives 
of them all; spoke with tenderness of the sister who 
had recently been married — and dwelt with anxious 
concern on the struggles of their younger brother, 
who had left home to branch out for himself. For 
a time they forgot their own troubles, and Robert 
plied his brother with many questions concerning the 
welfare of all his old friends and neighbors, while 
Gilbert told him all the gossip of the village, of the 
prosperity of some of the lads, and the unfortunate 
situations of many of the others, thus leading up to 
the recital of their own troubles since Robert had left 
his home. He listened sorrowfully to the tale of 
hardship and unceasing toil which brought such 
little recompense, but not by word or look did he 
betray his own blighted hopes and gloomy prospects. 
Finally they had exhausted every subject save one, 
and that one had been uppermost in the minds of 


334 HIGHLAND MARY 


both, but each had avoided the subject with a shrink- 
ing dread. 

No news of the little dairymaid had come to 
Robert for almost a year, and the thought that 
possibly she was ill or dead — or — and a hundred con- 
jectures racked his brain and froze the eager ques- 
tions that trembled on his lips. Gilbert must have 
read the longing in his brother’s heart, for, after a 
troubled glance at the dark yearning face gazing 
at him so beseechingly, he looked down at his toil- 
worn hands and awkwardly shifted one knee over the 
other. Presently he spoke. 

‘‘ Mary is still at Colonel Montgomery’s,” he 
observed, making an effort to speak lightly. 

“ I heard she had left Mrs. Dunlop’s,” replied 
Robert feverishly, moistening his lips with the tip of 
his tongue. 

“ Aye,” sighed Gilbert. ‘‘ She grew tired o’ the 
city and longed for the stillness, the restfulness of 
country life once more, so she came back to us and 
took her old place in the dairy. Poor lass,” and 
he looked thoughtfully out of the window and sadly 
watched the glorious sunset tinting the distant hills 
in a blaze of golden light. 

“ An’ — an’ is she well — is she happy ? ” murmured 
Robert in a soft, hushed voice. Gilbert did not 
answer for a moment. Presently he roused himself 
and slowly let his gaze wander back till it rested on 
his brother’s wistful face. 


HIGHLAND MARY 335 

“ Can ye bear a shock, brother? ” he asked 
quietly. 

Robert suddenly stiffened and his eyes grew wide 
and staring. He gripped the sides of the chair as a 
wave of sudden dizziness dulled his understanding. 
Presently it passed away, and like one in a dream 
he whispered hoarsely, “ Tell me the worst, Gilbert ; 
is — is she dead? ” 

He closed his eyes and waited with breathless still- 
ness for the answer. 

“ Thank God, not that ! ” replied Gilbert feel- 
ingly. Robert breathed a sigh of relief. ‘‘ But she 
is very ill, an’ I ken she hasna’ long on earth noo. 
The doctors say there is no hope for her,” and he bit 
his lips to keep back the rising tears. 

Slowly, sorrowfully, Robert’s head drooped till it 
rested on his bosom. For a moment he sat like one 
on the verge of dissolution. 

“ Oh, God ! ” he moaned bitterly, ‘‘ that sweet 
young life crushed out in all its innocent purity, like 
a delicate flower, and through my sin, my reckless 
f oily. Oh, how can I live and bear my punishment ! ” 
A convulsive sob racked his weakened frame. Gil- 
bert bent over him with tears in his eyes, forgetting 
his own crushing sorrow in witnessing that of his 
brother. 

“ Dinna’ greet so, Robert,” he cried. “ ’Twas 
not your fault, ye ken. It was to be.” His philo- 
sophical belief in fate helped him over many a hard 


336 HIGHLAND MARY 

and stony path, and enabled him to meet with calm- 
ness and fortitude the many heartaches and disap- 
pointments which befell him. 

Soon the convulsive shudders ceased, and leaning 
wearily back in his chair, Robert fixed his great 
mournful eyes upon his brother in sorrowful resigna- 
tion. 

“ How did she look when ye last saw her, Gil- 
bert.? ” he asked faintly, pressing his hand tightly 
to his heart, for the old pain had come back with 
exhausting results. 

“ Like an angel, lad,” replied Gilbert tenderly. 
“ So sweet and pure, so patient and forgiving.” 

“ Does she suffer much.? ” 

“ Nay,” he answered reassuringly. Then he 
continued, his voice soft and low, his strong features 
quivering from the restraint he put upon his feel- 
ings, “ Her life is just slowly slipping away from 
her; day by day she grows weaker and weaker, but 
ne’er a complaint is on her lips. She is always so 
cheerful an’ smilin’ that it fair makes ye weep to see 
her fadin’ awa’ so fast,” and his voice broke into a 
hard sob. 

“ Oh, Mary, my Highland Mary ! ” murmured 
Robert brokenly. 

“ Her last wish is to see the Highlands, to — to die 
there,” continued Gilbert, his lips contracting with 
a sudden, sharp pain at the thought. “ So before 
she grows any weaker, Mrs. Dunlop, who has come 


HIGHLAND MARY 337 

from town to see her, and who is wi’ her noo, is goin’ 
to take her back to her old home in Argyleshire.” 

“ Going home to die ! ” repeated Robert dreamily. 
“ Oh, if I might be taken awa’ too, if my end would 
only hasten,” he muttered despairingly, with the 
weak selfishness of the sick and sorrowing. ‘‘ Then 
might our departing souls be united as one, to be 
together for all eternity.” 

“ Hush, Robert ! ” cautioned Gilbert, looking 
fearfully at the closed door. “ Remember Jean and 
the bairns.” 

‘‘ Gilbert, I must see her before she goes ! ” he cried 
utterly distracted. ‘‘ ’Tis for the last time on earth, 
ye ken, lad,” and he jumped up, trembling with eager 
excitement. 

“ Brother, would ye kill yoursel’ ? ” cried Gilbert, 
seeking to restrain him. “ ’Tis madness for ye to 
go out in your weak condition.” 

“ Dinna’ stop me, Gilbert ! ” he panted, and he 
flung open the door and rushed excitedly into the 
room where Jean sat in patient meditation. “ Jean, 
get my bonnet and coat, quick, quick ! ” he com- 
manded with his old-time vehemence. She jumped 
up pale and frightened and looked questioningly at 
Gilbert. Quickly he told her of Mary’s illness and 
Robert’s determination to go to her at once. When 
he had finished she went to her husband, the tears of 
ready sympathy in her eyes, for she was not jealous 
of his love for Mary. She had gotten over that long 


338 HIGHLAND MARY 

ago, and laying her hand gently on his arm, she 
tried to coax him to sit down and listen to them. 

“ They’ll have to pass by here on their way to 
Greenock,” she told him tenderly. “ And ye may 
be sure, Robert, that Mary will not leave Ayrshire 
without saying good-by to you.” And so she rea- 
soned with him, while Gilbert joined her in assurances 
of Mrs. Dunlop’s intention of stopping to see him 
as she passed the farm. Gradually the wild light in 
his eyes died down, the tense figure relaxed, and with 
a sigh of exhaustion he allowed himself to be taken 
back to his room. 

‘‘Ye’re sure she’ll not forget to stop here?” he 
asked with pathetic eagerness. Then he continued 
with wistful retrospection, “ Two years have come 
and gone and not a word have we spoken to each 
other since that day we parted in Edinburgh! Oh, 
cruel, cruel fate 1 ” He spoke so low that none heard 
him. 

“ Noo, Robert,” said Jean brightly, “you must 
take your gruel, ’twill give ye strength.” But he 
made a gesture of repulsion. 

“ Nay, Jean, I canna’ eat noo; ’twould choke me. 
I think I’ll lay me down to rest.” They soon pre- 
pared him for bed. Without a word, he turned his 
face to the wall and for the rest of the night he lay 
there with wide, staring, sleepless eyes, thinking, 
thinking, thinking. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


News of Robert’s illness soon reached Edinburgh, 
along with reports of his misconduct, profligacy, and 
intemperance, reports which were grossly exagger- 
ated, together with many other slanderous false- 
hoods. 

And rumors of his poverty and the destitute 
condition of his family brought sorrow and anxiety 
to the hearts of many of his loyal friends, who 
were only too ready and willing to offer him all 
the help and assistance that would be needed, but 
they knew, too, his inflexible pride and independence, 
and realized how futile would be their offers of 
friendly assistance. 

For some days Lady Nancy Gordon had been 
anxiously puzzling her brain for some thought 
or scheme whereby she could help the unfortu- 
nate Bard who was plunged in such depths of pov- 
erty and misfortune. She was thinking of him now 
as she sat at the harpsichord, her fingers wandering 
idly over the keyboard in a running accompaniment 
to her thoughts. Her father softly entered the room 
at this juncture, but she did not turn her head nor 
intimate that she was aware of his presence. Pres- 
339 


340 HIGHLAND MARY 


ently her touch grew more and more tender. Anon 
she glided into one of those dreamily joyous, yet 
sorrowful, mazurkas, that remind one of gay wild 
flowers growing in rich profusion over silent and for- 
gotten graves. Lady Nancy had reason to boast of 
herself, for she was a perfect mistress of the instru- 
ment — and as her Angers closed on the final chord, she 
wheeled round abruptly on the chair, and rising to 
her feet greeted her father with a tender smile. For 
a moment she regarded him in thoughtful silence, 
then as he laid down his paper, she walked up to 
him, a frown of displeasure wrinkling her smooth, 
white forehead. 

“ I think, father,” she said deliberately, with a 
haughty uptilt of her pretty nose, “ I think it is 
perfectly disgraceful the way that hackney scrib- 
bler who writes for yon journal,” indicating the 
paper on the table, “ either through malice or igno- 
rance affixes such degrading epithets to the name of 
the Bard of Scotland, for by no other name will I 
ever speak of Robert Burns,” and she flashed an 
angry glance at the offending paper. 

“ Poor obstinate lad,” sighed the Duke thought- 
fully. His mind went back to the day after the 
garden party at Glencairn Hall, when he had sent 
for Robert to honor them with his presence at Gor- 
don House, and how the poet had taken offense at 
some thoughtless remark of his, given in kindly 
spirit; how with haughty pride, and wounded dig- 


HIGHLAND MARY 341 

nity, he had gotten up from the table and after 
thanking them for their hospitality, declared he had 
not come to be insultingly patronized and pitied, and 
refusing to listen to reason, or explanation, he had 
left in bitter resentment and blind misunderstanding. 
Lady Nancy too was thinking the same thoughts, 
and after a moment’s meditation she looked into her 
father’s kindly face and remarked earnestly: 

‘‘ Father, something must be done for him and his 
family at once.” 

“ But, my dear,” he meekly replied, “ our hands 
are tied by his own obstinacy.” 

“ Can we not get up a subscription for him? ” she 
asked. He shook his head slowly. 

“ ’Twould be to no purpose, Nancy,” he returned 
thoughtfully. “ He would refuse all offers of pecu- 
niary aid. I know well his independent principles, 
and so do you.” 

They talked over many plans and projects, but 
none seemed feasible, and they were about to give up 
in despair, when Henry Mackenzie was announced. 
He had just arrived from Ellisland, and immediately 
spoke of his visit to the poet, and under what pain- 
ful conditions he had found him — told them of his 
promise to Burns to secure the office of supervisor 
for him, and had called to consult with his lordship 
concerning its bestowal. 

Nancy listened with bated breath and tear-dimmed 
eyes as he spoke of the change in Robert, his pov- 


342 HIGHLAND MARY 


erty, his indomitable courage and independence, in 
spite of the ravages of disease and the black, gloomy 
outlook for future prosperity. 

Nancy and I were just discussing some means 
of alleviating his distress as you entered,” said the 
Duke as Mr. Mackenzie finished his recital. “ And 
it affords me much gratification to be able to assist 
him to the office of supervisor of the excise and its 
attendant increase of salary.” 

“ ’Twill be a God-send to him, believe me, my 
lord,” returned Mr. Mackenzie feelingly. 

“ The news will be dispatched to him at once ! ” 
cried Nancy with sparkling eyes. ‘‘ ’Twill relieve 
his present distress of mind.” 

With that assurance, Mr. Mackenzie rose, and 
thanking them for their kindness in behalf of the 
indigent poet, took his leave. 

Having finished luncheon, the old Duke excused 
himself, and going to his study, he made out the 
necessary papers of promotion for the struggling 
exciseman, with many a shake of his head and 
pitying sigh for the young genius who was reduced 
to such straits — driven to such a commonplace call- 
ing, through his headstrong recklessness, his foolish 
ideas of independence. Having signed them he sat 
back in thoughtful meditation. Suddenly the door 
opened, and his daughter asked permission to enter. 
Having gained it, she crossed to her father, and 
sinking down beside him, in an eager, impetuous 


HIGHLAND MARY 343 

manner quickly laid before him a project which had 
been formulating in her active brain while he was 
busy writing out the papers. 

He started back in amazement. What ! ” he 
cried. “Are you out of your senses, Nancy?” 

“Now, papa, listen!” she exclaimed earnestly. 
“ ’Twill take but a day’s ride to reach Dumfries, 
and think how delighted he will be to receive the 
promotion from your hands,” and she slyly noted 
the effect of the bit of delicate flattery. 

He frowned and pursed his lips for a moment, and 
idly tapped the folded papers against his knee in 
thought. These signs boded success, as Nancy well 
knew, and springing to her feet she gave him a big 
hug that set him gasping. 

“Look here. Mistress Nancy!” he exclaimed as 
soon as he recovered his breath, “ why do you 
want to take this wearisome journey at this season 
of the year, just to visit the home of this poor 
exciseman ? ” and he wonderingly regarded the face 
that had suddenly grown flushed and pensive, as she 
looked with worshipful eyes at the large engraving 
over the fireplace, which contained the figure of 
Burns in a characteristic attitude, reading one of 
his poems to the group of people that surrounded 
him. 

“ I want to see him once more before the fire of 
his genius grows cold,” she answered dreamily. “ I 
want to see him in his home with his — ^his wife and 


344 HIGHLAND MARY 


children around him.” She might have told him 
that she was heart-hungry for a sight of that dark, 
glowing face, the flashing black eyes that had 
thrilled her with such blissful pain, for the sound of 
that rich, majestic voice, that had so often stirred 
the uttermost depths of her heart. She felt that the 
yearning of her soul would not be satisfied till she 
had seen him again, spoken with him. She hoped, 
yet dreaded, that the sight of his changed face, his 
miserable surroundings, the commonplaceness of it 
all, of meeting the exciseman with his wife and chil- 
dren around him, rather than the idealized poet, 
would silence forever the strange unrest of her soul, 
banish all thoughts of sentiment from her mind, and 
destroy the spell of glamour which he had all uncon- 
sciously thrown about her. These thoughts flew 
through her mind with lightning speed while her 
father was making up his mind how best to dissuade 
her from her purpose. 

‘‘ I fear me, Nancy, ’twill give us both more pain 
than pleasure,” he said finally. “ We may even lose 
our respect for him.” 

‘‘ Don’t say that, father ! ” she cried reproach- 
fully. “ No matter how low he may have fallen, and 
I protest that fame has exaggerated his misconduct 
woefully, we people of Scotland cannot forget nor 
overlook the priceless treasure he has put into our 
thankless hands, a treasure that will be handed down 
to posterity with ever increasing regard, admiration 


HIGHLAND MARY 345 

and love for its author,” and her flashing blue eyes, 
that had so often reminded Robert of Mary Camp- 
bell, and which had formed a closer tie of comrade- 
ship between them, again sought and lingered upon 
the engraved likeness of her hero. The singular 
beauty of Lady Nancy Gordon was illumined by that 
happy expression of countenance which results from 
the union of cultivated tastes and superior under- 
standing with the finest affections of mind, and the 
influence of such attractions had been keenly felt by 
the ardent poet, who was not altogether unaware of 
the impression he had made upon her heart, which 
was as susceptible to the charms of wit and intellect 
as was his own. As she stood gazing up at the pic- 
ture, she thought with an odd little smile how she 
had openly sought for his favors, delighted in his 
apparent preference for her society even while she 
told herself she knew he was only attracted by her 
brilliancy — that she appealed to his intellect — 
charmed him by her wit, her cleverness. No, she 
had never touched his heart, she thought with a 
sigh, and a look of sadness came into her thought- 
ful eyes. 

“ I fear, Nancy, that Robert still harbors feel- 
ings of resentment against us,” protested the Duke 
after a pause. ‘‘ I know he would rather not see 
us.” 

But Lady Nancy overruled his objection. “ Then 
all the more reason for our assuring him of our 


346 HIGHLAND MARY 


friendship and asking his forgiveness for any offense 
we have unintentionally offered him.” 

Seeing all arguments were useless, the old Duke 
finally consented, and with a hug and a kiss, Nancy 
left him and proceeded to make arrangements for 
their speedy departure for Ayrshire. 


CHAPTER XXV 


The next morning dawned bleak and dismal. A 
damp, penetrating mist hung over the farm like a 
pall, and the chill of the rain-laden air penetrated 
into the rooms and made itself felt even by the side 
of the brightest fires. It affected the inmates of Ellis- 
land farm to an alarming extent. They sat gloomily 
around the hearth idly watching the smoldering peat 
fire, which failed to send out much warmth — as if 
it, too, felt the depressing influences which sur- 
rounded the little household and which had plunged 
them all into such a slough of despond. 

Robert had partaken of his bowl of porridge and 
now lay upon his bed, grateful for the added warmth 
of the woolen blankets which Jean had thrown over 
him with thoughtful solicitude. He appeared to 
the anxious watchers to be more like himself than he 
had been for some days, in spite of his restless, sleep- 
less nights, as he lay there peacefully enjoying the 
antics of the children who were playing gleefully but 
quietly around the room their favorite game of 
“ Blind man’s holiday.” 

At sundown the night before Gilbert had hastened 
to the Inn to meet Squire Armour and to plead for 
another day’s grace, but the implacable old man 
347 


348 HIGHLAND MARY 

refused to listen to him when he found he had failed 
to bring the money, and stormily took his departure 
with threats of instant eviction, leaving Gilbert in 
a state of utter distraction. He watched the Squire 
ride furiously away in the direction of Mossgiel 
with a heavy, sinking fear at his heart, then slowly 
made his way, with pale face and clenched hands, 
back to his brother’s cottage, where he wrestled with 
the fears that assailed him in despairing silence. 
Several times during the night he was on the verge 
of saddling his horse and dashing home, but the hope 
that the morning would bring the long-expected 
letter to Robert checked the impulse, and so he sat 
the long night through anxiously waiting for the 
dawn, praying fervently that he might not be too 
late to save his dear ones from the vindictive 
anger, the unyielding resolution of their irate land- 
lord. 

And now morning was here at last. Robert had 
fallen into a profound slumber of nervous exhaustion. 
Jean tucked him in carefully with the warm blankets, 
and taking the children with her, quietly closed the 
door upon the sleeping man with a prayer of thank- 
fulness for his temporary respite from the troubles 
that surged about his head. 

When her duties were over and the children 
playing on the green, Jean took her sewing and 
joined Gilbert in the living room. He was walking 
restlessly up and down, with nervous, flashing eyes 


HIGHLAND MARY 349 

that eagerly searched the road, as he passed and 
repassed the small window. His restless pacing, his 
look of hopeful anxiety smote Jean to the heart, for 
she had been bitterly resentful, and was still in a 
measure, against Gilbert’s selfishness in thinking 
only of his own extremity. It didn’t seem right or 
just that he should be here with outstretched hands, 
waiting to take the money that meant so much to 
their own struggling family at the present time, and 
without which she could only foresee grim want star- 
ing them all in the face — and she had to struggle 
with the desire that rushed over her to rise up and 
tell him of their bitter plight, to bid him go 
elsewhere for assistance; but the fear of Robert’s 
anger kept her silent. Then, too, she suddenly 
remembered that they had both kept their poverty 
and Robert’s continued ill luck and failures from the 
home folk, and it was only to be expected that 
Gilbert would naturally turn to his prosperous 
brother for assistance. “ Prosperous, indeed ! If he 
but knew,” and she sighed deeply, for her mother’s 
heart felt sore depressed as she thought of her own 
loved ones. They did not talk much. Each was 
too busy with his own gloomy thoughts. 

In fancy, Gilbert could see Squire Armour at Moss- 
giel Farm, ordering out his mother and sister, watch- 
ing them with sinister eyes as they got together 
their meager belongings, and then when they, with 
streaming eyes, had carried out the last piece of 


350 HIGHLAND MARY 


furniture and stood gazing at the home that was no 
longer theirs, the cruel landlord had heartlessly 
laughed at their sorrow and, locking the door, had 
ridden away with the keys in his pocket, leaving 
them standing there not knowing whither to go nor 
where to find food or shelter. 

“ O God! Not that! Not that! ” he cried aloud, 
pausing in his walk with clenched hands, pale and 
wild-eyed. 

Jean looked up from her work in startled alarm. 
“ Gilbert ! ” she cried. “ What is it ? ” 

With a little mirthless laugh, he told her of the 
vision he had had, told of his fears for the safety 
of his home and the welfare of his loved ones. 

She listened with a feeling of shame at her heart 
and a flush of angry humiliation mantling her pale 
cheek. 

“’Fore Heaven, it makes me feel like cursing 
even the memory of my father,” she exclaimed bit- 
terly with a flash of her old-time imperiousness. 
“ But be not alarmed, Gilbert,” she continued with 
an encouraging smile. “Your mother is a match 
even for my father, and I’ll warrant she’ll not let 
him set his foot inside the threshold till you return.” 
His face brightened. 

“ I had indeed forgot my mother’s independent, 
courageous spirit,” he replied with a sigh of relief 
and hopefulness. 

The depressing gloom thus lifted, they soon drifted 


HIGHLAND MARY 351 

into a friendly, earnest conversation, and the minutes 
sped by without, however, the loohed-for interrup- 
tion of the overdue postman. 

Outside, the mist had long since been dispersed by 
the warm rays of the noonday sun, which was now 
shining brilliantly. A soft moisture glittered on 
every tiny leaf of the wild rose bushes which clustered 
beneath the window of the little cot, and on every 
blade of grass. The penetrating and delicious odor 
of sweet violets and blue-bells scented each puff of 
wind, and now and then the call of the meadow lark 
pierced the air with a subdued far-off shrillness. Sud- 
denly the peaceful stillness was broken in upon by 
the sound of footsteps crunching slowly along 
the garden path on their way to the door of the 
cottage. 

The Duke of Gordon and his daughter had arrived 
in Dumfries the night before, and, after a night’s rest, 
they took the coach to Ellisland and put up at the 
little old Inn. There they made inquiries for the 
whereabouts of the home of the poet of the little 
old man who was boastfully describing the splendors 
of MacDougall House, none other than our old friend 
Souter, once more in his breeches, having asserted his 
authority, much to his wife’s secret satisfaction, for 
“ she did so love a masterful man.” Whereupon 
Souter condescendingly offered to conduct them to 
the place they sought. And now, as they looked at 
the poor clay biggin and the evidences of poverty 


352 HIGHLAND MARY 

and neglect which surrounded them on all sides, their 
hearts sank within them. 

“ I suppose we will find Mr. Burns greatly 
changed ” said Nancy interrogatively with a little 
shudder of dread. 

“ Weel, mum,” replied Souter reflectively, ‘‘ we 
all change in time, ye ken. Some for worse, like 
myse?, and some for the better, like yoursel’, askin’ 
your pardon for my boldness. And ye ken Robbie’s 
life has been very hard these past few years.” He 
sighed and shook his head dolefully. “ But I want 
to say right here,” and his heavy eyebrows drew 
together in a black scowl, “ Robbie Burns’ sickness 
is na’ due to his drinkin’, as ye people of Edinburgh 
believe, and put in yer penny papers. Robbie is 
na drunkard. I hae known him from infancy, and I 
affirm that he has never been guilty of the gross 
enormities he has been charged with. He could 
always attend to his duties,” and he looked with 
aggressive suspicion into the downcast faces of his 
listeners for some sign of doubt of his assertion, 
which, though stanchly loyal, was not altogether true, 
as he knew only too well. “ But there is nae use 
telling all ye know,” he told himself philosophically. 
‘‘ And what people don’t know about the food they 
eat, will no hurt their appetites.” 

“I am very glad to hear that,” ejaculated the 
Duke warmly. 

“ An’ he is a fond father an’ a maist affectionate 


HIGHLAND MARY 353 

husband,” continued Souter stoutly. “ I’ll go in 
noo and tell him ye’re here,” and he strode into the 
house, leaving the couple standing in the path much 
to their astonishment. 

‘‘ It doesn’t seem right, father,” said Lady Nancy 
sadly, “ for such genius to dwell in that little hut, 
amid such surroundings. How I pity him.” 

There was a suggestion of tears in the sweet voice 
which her fond father noticed with sudden apprehen- 
sion. He looked at her closely. 

‘‘ Who is to blame for his being here? ” he retorted 
firmly. She remained discreetly silent. Then he 
continued in a softer voice, “ But I mustn’t blame 
nor censure him, now that he is sick, and down at 
the bottom again. It is, indeed, a lasting pity that 
such genius should be allowed to smother here in 
poverty and among questionable companions, who, 
’tis said, seek only to bring him to their level, and 
who, alas ! are but too surely dragging him there, I 
fear, a weak, unresisting, but also a remorseful, 
repentant victim.” 

“ And must he stay on here, father, to die a poor 
exciseman?” asked Nancy with a strangely beating 
heart. “Even the added salary of the Supervisor- 
ship cannot be sufllcient to keep such a family.” At 
that moment Souter opened the door. They turned 
to him quietly. 

“ Well, what says Mr. Bums ? ” asked the Duke 
impatiently. 


I 


354 HIGHLAND MARY 

A little smile of amusement appeared on Souter’s 
face. “ Mr. Burns begs you to enter and to be 
seated,” he replied. 

They complied with the injunction and were shown 
into the living-room, where they seated themselves. 

‘‘ I was also to tell ye,” continued Souter dryly, 
‘‘ that he will be with ye as soon as he can get into 
his damned rags.” 

“ What ! ” exclaimed the Duke laughingly. 

“ Excuse me, your ladyship,” answered Souter 
with a little nod to Lady Nancy, “ but them’s his 
own words and I’m no the one to change the lan- 
guage o’ a Scottish poet.” 

“ Has he only rags to wear.^^ ” asked Lady Nancy 
pitifully. 

“ Hush ! ” cautioned her father, ‘‘ he is here.” 

The door opened and Robert slowly entered the 
room. He had thrown his wide plaid around his 
shoulders, over his loose white shirt, and held it 
together with one hand that gleamed very white 
and thin against the bright colors. His black hair, 
now faintly streaked with gray and which had thinned 
considerably above his forehead, hung loosely about 
his neck, framing his gaunt face, and accentuating 
his pallor. 

For a moment they gazed upon the wreck of the 
once stalwart and ruggedly healthy youth, too 
shocked to utter a word. Robert was the first to 
break the silence. 


HIGHLAND MARY 355 

“ My lord,” he exclaimed with something of his 
old brightness, “ I am rejoiced, indeed, to see you 
at Ellisland. ’Tis a great surprise, but none the 
less a welcome one.” He shook the Duke’s out- 
stretched hand with fervor. 

“ The pleasure is mutual, my lad,” responded the 
Duke warmly. “ ’Tis a few years now since we 
parted, and in anger, too.” 

‘‘ I was in the wrong that night,” broke in Robert 
penitently, with a rueful shake of the head. “ I sadly 
misjudged ye there, as I learned afterward, but my 
stubborn pride refused to accept the olive branch ye 
held out to me. Ye see,” he explained frankly^ 
“ ’twas my unreasoning wounded pride and anger, 
and my disappointment which blinded me to all sense 
of right and justice. I realized after that ye were 
my friends and that ye resented the damning insult 
put upon me at Glencairn Hall.” He paused a 
moment, a frown of bitterness wrinkling his brow. 
Presently he looked up and holding out his hand 
again with one of the old magnetic smiles, said, “ An’ 
ye have forgiven my ingratitude, an’ are come noo 
to see me! I thank ye.” 

“ ’Tis all forgot. I forgave you at the time,” 
responded the Duke cordially. “ I could not hold 
resentment against you.” He turned to his daugh- 
ter, who was partly concealed in the embrasure of 
the deep window. 

“ Nancy, child, speak to Robert.” She came 


356 HIGHLAND MARY 


slowly forward with hand outstretched, a faint flush 
dyeing her creamy skin, or perhaps it was the reflec- 
tion of the pink satin gown she was wearing beneath 
the long velvet cloak, which, becoming unhooked, had 
slipped down off her shoulders. 

Robert rose to his feet, and his black, gloomy 
eyes lighted up with pleasure as they rested upon the 
dainty vision of loveliness before him. Lady Nancy 
had always reminded him of Mary Campbell, and 
to-day the resemblance was more striking than ever. 
For beneath the large leghorn with its waving, black 
plumes, her golden hair so like Mary’s, for the once 
unpowdered, glittered in all its beauty. Perhaps 
my Lady Nancy had remembered the likeness and 
had purposely heightened it by forgetting to use 
the powder which had hitherto covered the golden 
curls at all times. As she stood there with a wistful 
look upon her face, it was easy to perceive the resem- 
blance to the timid dairymaid who, in borrowed 
finery, had created such a sensation at the Duchess 
of Athol’s “ at home ” three years before. 

“ Lady Nancy, forgive my rudeness in not greet- 
ing you sooner,” he exclaimed fervently. 

“ I am so glad we are reconciled, friends, once 
more,” she exclaimed impulsively. “ It did seem as 
if you would never relent, you stubborn man,” and 
she smiled archly into his embarrassed face. 

“ You find me greatly changed, of course,” he 
remarked after they had discoursed a while upon 


HIGHLAND MARY 357 

their journey. She remained silent, but he read the 
sympathy shining in her blue eyes. 

“We read of your illness in town,” explained the 
Duke, “ and believe me, Robert, we are deeply sorry 
for your affliction. But I trust the vigor of your 
constitution will soon set you on your feet again,” 
and he gave him a cheery smile of encourage- 
ment. 

Robert shook his head gloomily. “ My health is, 
I think, flown from me forever,” he replied sadly, 
“ altho’ I am beginning to crawl about the house, 
and once, indeed, have I been seen outside my cottage 
door.” 

“ Why didn’t you let us know of your illness 
before ” exclaimed Lady Nancy reproachfully. 
■“ We are your friends.” 

Robert flushed painfully. “ My miserable health 
was brought on and aggravated solely by my head- 
strong, thoughtless carelessness, and I felt so heartily 
ashamed of myself that I sought to conceal from all 
friends my real condition, but ’tis out at last. How 
long I will be confined to the house, God alone 
knows,” and he sighed deeply. 

“ Do not give yourself up to despondency, my 
lad,” encouraged the Duke brightly, “ nor speak the 
language of despair. You must get well.” 

“Indeed I must!” returned Robert grimly, “for 
I have three strong, healthy boys and if I am nipt 
off at the command of fate — gracious God! what 


358 HIGHLAND MARY 


would become of my little flock ? ” and a look of 
distraction swept over his face at the thought. 

Don’t distress yourself needlessly, Robert ! ” ex- 
claimed the Duke kindly. Then he continued ear- 
nestly, “ If anything should happen to you, if you 
should be taken oflp before I am called, I promise 
that the children of Robert Burns shall never come 
to want.” 

‘‘ ’Twould be a lasting disgrace to Scotland,” 
flashed Lady Nancy with kindling eyes. 

Robert grasped the Duke’s hand impulsively. 
“ God bless ye for your noble assurance ! ” he cried. 
“ Ye have lifted a heavy weight of care and anxiety 
off my mind.” 

“ Why, father! ” suddenly exclaimed Lady Nancy, 
“ I vow if you are not forgetting your principal 
errand here.” He looked at her with a puzzled 
frown. “ Mr. Burns’ promotion,” she reminded him 
laughingly. 

“ Gad zooks ! ” he exclaimed in amazement, jump- 
ing to his feet. “ What an old dolt I am, to be sure.” 
Hastily diving his hand in the inside pocket of his 
elaborate, black-flowered satin square-cut, he 
pulled out a long paper with a red seal attached 
and handed it to the now bewildered Robert, who, 
after a quick glance at their smiling faces, opened 
the paper and quickly read its contents. Then he 
gave a gasp, followed by an ejaculation of delighted 
surprise and gratification. 


HIGHLAND MARY 359 

‘‘ My lord,” he exclaimed, “ this is indeed a gift 
to bring gladness to a man’s heart. I thank ye 
most gratefully for my promotion, and will endeavor 
to perform my duties to the best of my poor abili- 
ties as soon as my strength returns.” And the look 
of anxiety gave way to one of comparative con- 
tentment. 

“ And your immediate recovery is of the first 
importance,” returned the Duke brightly. ‘‘ You 
need a change.” 

‘‘ Why not come to town, where you can have the 
best of medical attendance? ” asked Lady Nancy 
quietly, though her heart beat furiously as she offered 
the suggestion. 

“ That is impossible,” replied Robert. “ The 
medical folk tell me that my last and only chance 
is bathing and sea air and riding. With my pro- 
motion and the increase of salary it brings, I can 
now obey their mandates,” and he held the paper 
to his breast with a sigh of relief. 

“ Then the sooner you start, the better,” remarked 
the Duke kindly. 

Lady Nancy rose to her feet with a wan smile on 
her lips. “ And the sooner we start for Dumfries, 
father, the better,” she returned. 

“ You’re right, child, we must hasten,” and he 
hastily arose and got his hat and cane together, 
then he turned once more to Robert. ‘‘ Mr. Burns, 
pardon the suggestion, but is it not time to get 


360 HIGHLAND MARY 

out another volume of your poems?” he asked 
kindly. 

“ I have not in my present state of mind much 
appetite for exertion in writing,” answered Robert 
slowly. 

“ But they could be arranged for you by some 
literary friend,” quickly returned the Duke, ‘‘ and 
advertised to be published by subscription.” 

Robert raised his head proudly. “ Subscrip- 
tion! ” he repeated. “ No, no, that savors too much 
of charity,” and a look of obstinacy came into his 
darkened eyes. 

“ Remember,” said Lady Nancy gently, that 
Pope published his Iliad by subscription, Mr. 
Burns.” 

He remained silent a moment, then after a little 
struggle with his obstinate pride, he answered with a 
touch of bitterness in his voice, “ I realize that I 
am in no position to despise any means to add to 
my income or to leave my family better provided 
for after I am gone. I will take your advice and will 
at once speak to my dear friend Aiken about it. 
He will aid me.” 

The door opened and Jean entered the room. She 
had heard all the good news, and having met both 
the Duke and Lady Nancy while sojourning at Glen- 
caim Castle a few years before, she felt she ought to 
thank them for their good offices in Robert’s behalf. 

Lady Nancy and the Duke greeted her warmly. 


HIGHLAND MARY 361 

asked after the health of the children, expressed 
pleasure in seeing her again, and soon put her at her 
ease, for the sudden thought of her hasty marriage 
to Robert and the attendant slanderous gossip at first 
made her feel and appear self-conscious and 
restrained. 

“ I was just telling Robert,” said the old Duke, 
“ that he must go at once to the seashore.” She 
looked at her husband, and her wistful expression did 
not escape the keen eyes of Lady Nancy. 

“ If he only could go at once,” faltered Jean, “ I 
am sure the water would effect a cure, but ” 

Nancy gave her father a significant look, which 
clearly said, “ They have no money, father.” At 
least, so he interpreted it, aided by his own shrewd 
guess at the state of affairs. 

“ By the way, Robert,” he said jocularly, “ can 
you swallow your pride sufficiently to accept a month’s 
salary in advance ? ” He pulled out a large, well- 
filled wallet and opened it. 

“ We do not need it, my lord,” answered Robert 

firmly and a trifle coldly. “ I am expecting ” 

Here Jean hurriedly interrupted him, knowing what 
he was about to say. 

“ Oh, Robert ! ” she cried contritely, “ I forget to 
tell you that the Posty left no letter.” 

“No letter!” he repeated dully, looking at her 
with wide-open, searching eyes. She sadly shook 
her head. 


362 HIGHLAND MARY 


“ Here are £5, lad. Take the note and to-morrow 
set out for Brow,” and the Duke held out the note 
for his acceptance, but he sat with averted gaze in 
the proud silence of keen disappointment, 

“Do not refuse, Robert,” pleaded Jean softly. 
“ ’Tis only a loan.” 

Slowly he took the money and folded it between 
his fingers. “ Thank ye, my lord,” he said quietly. 
“ I will accept it, for I am in sore need of it at this 
moment.” 

“ That’s right, my lad,” he said heartily. “ What 
is a friend for if he cannot extend or receive a 
favor.?” and he turned to help his daughter into 
her cloak. 

Quickly Robert pressed the money into Jean’s 
hand and whispered to her, “ Take it at once to 
Gilbert and bid him hasten to Mossgiel before it 
is too late to save the roof over mother’s head.” 

“ But, Robert ” she protested, but he would 

not listen to her. 

“ Do ye not see ’tis near sundown of the second 
day ? ” he told her impatiently, “ and Gilbert will 
have to ride fast if he would get to Mossgiel before 
night overtakes him; noo hasten, Jean.” Still she 
lingered, reluctant to go. 

“Oh, lad, this money is for you; it means your 
health, our happiness. It isn’t right to ” 

“ We have got a roof over our head, Jean,” he 
interrupted sternly. “We maist keep one over my 


HIGHLAND MARY 363 

mother and sister as weel. We will nae starve, 
for our present needs. Noo go, lass, go.” 

There are only £4 due your father. Keep out one 
Thus commanded, she hurried to the chamber where 
Gilbert sat in despairing solitude, his head held 
wearily between his hands, and conveyed to him the 
glad intelligence. And soon he was speeding furi- 
ously over the dusty road toward home, his face 
aglow with joy and eagerness. 

When Jean returned to the room she found 
Souter and Eppy there gayly chatting with the Duke 
and Lady Nancy, who were evidently much surprised 
to find their old friend Eppy at last married. 

“ I am so glad to see you here. Lady Nancy,” 
gushed Eppy effusively. “ You must come and see 
us before you return to Edinburgh. I live on the 
estate adjoining this farm.” He drew the smil- 
ing girl to the window and pointed out the beauties 
of MacDougall House. He is poor,” she whis- 
pered, “ but he is of noble birth, a MacDougall of 
Lome. Souter ! ” she called aloud to her husband, 
who was looking exceedingly important as he stood 
balancing himself on his toes, his hands behind his 
back, a look of supreme self-satisfaction on his face, 
and listening, with an air of blase indifference, to 
the conversation between the old Duke and Robert. 
As he heard his name called he leisurely turned his 
head in his wife’s direction. 

‘‘ Souter,” she continued in a tone meant to be 


364 HIGHLAND MARY 


careless, but which expressed plainly her feeling of 
pride, “ isn’t it the Marquis of Lome who is your 
first cousin ? ” 

“ What’s that, Souter? ” asked Robert incredu- 
lously. 

Souter looked around him with a sickly smile. He 
had not thought to be cornered in this manner, when 
he had filled his wife’s mind with stories of past 
grandeur and noble connections, and it made him 
feel decidedly uncomfortable and embarrassed. 

Er — didna’ ye ken that, Robbie ? ” he exclaimed 
with a look of feigned surprise on his reddened face. 
“ Och, yes ! By the by, Robbie,” he continued 
quickly, anxious to change the subject, we came 
o’er to tell ye that we are gang to Brow on our 
honeymoon.” Here Eppy giggled and looked bash- 
fully out of the window. “ An’ my wife, Mrs. Mac- 
Dougall,” with a flourish of the hand in her direction, 
which elicited another giggle from the lady in ques- 
tion, “ has decided that we want ye to gang alang 
wi’ us.” 

Robert looked at him, then at Eppy in speechless 
surprise. Jean gave a little gasp, and her hand 
sought her husband’s arm and pressed it with 
delight. 

“ Souter,” faltered Robert, “ ye’re both doing 
this out of the kindness of your hearts, but I 
canna ” 

“ We’ll na take no for an answer. Ye may be 


HIGHLAND MARY 365 

stubborn wi’ your lofty independence, your pride, 
but I can be just as stubborn as ye, Rab Burns, and 
I say it is settled,” said Souter. 

“ ’Tis the hand of God,” whispered Jean softly. 

‘‘God bless ye both,” faltered Robert,, grasping 
Souter’s hand affectionately. 

“ Come, father,” said Lady Nancy, who had wit- 
nessed this little scene with moist eyes, “ I protest 
we must start on our journey.” 

“ But first we must have a toast,” said Robert 
brightly. “ ’Tis most fitting. J ean, bring the 
punch bowl.” Quickly she brought from the closet 
the bowl of Inverary marble and placed it on the 
table, and into it she poured some hot water and 
sugar. “We have no wine to offer,” continued Rob- 
ert, “ nothing better than Highland whisky, but ye 
needna’ be afraid of becoming intoxicated, my lord,” 
and he smiled ruefully, “for I ken ’twill hardly be 
tolerable to your educated taste.” Jean had mixed 
the punch and now passed it around among the 
guests. “ For auld lang syne ! ” cried Robert feel- 
ingly. “ Is not that phrase most expressive? My 
lord, a toast,” and he raised his glass to the old 
Duke, who, after a moment’s hesitation, proposed 
“ the health of Robert Burns, Scotland’s greatest 
Bard.” 

“We drink to that with pleasure,” exclaimed Lady 
Nancy. 

“ Aye, that we do,” echoed Souter heartily. And 


366 HIGHLAND MARY 


while the toast was being drunk he slyly whispered, 
“ Rob, dinna’ say aught to my wife about — er — the 
old Marquis, my — ahem — cousin. Ye understand,” 
and he nudged him significantly. 

Robert smiled and assured him of his secrecy. 

“ And noo,” said Souter proudly, looking at 
Eppy’s simpering face, “ here’s to the bride.” She 
made a deep courtesy and quaffed her glass with con- 
scious dignity at her sudden importance. “ May she 
always believe in her husband,” he added in an aside 
to Robert, much to the latter’s amusement. 

“Mrs. MacDougall, here’s to your enemies, your 
foes,” proposed Robert. 

“ What ? ” she cried, opening her eyes in amaze- 
ment. 

“ May they have short shoes an’ corny toes,” he 
added with a merry twinkle in his eyes. 

“ Duke, a toast ! ” said Souter importantly. 

The Duke thought a moment. “ Well, I drink to 
Mrs. MacDougall. May she soon have a house full 
of bairns,” he thoughtlessly proposed. 

Eppy gasped and turned crimson, and Lad}’^ 
Nancy bit her lips to keep back the smile her father’s 
well-meant but tactless speech occasioned. 

“Do you mean to insult me, my lord.^ ” flashed 
Eppy indignantly. 

“ Bless my soul, no,” returned the Duke in aston- 
ishment, who could see no reason for offense in his 
kindly-meant remark. 


HIGHLAND MARY 367 

“ The Duke meant well,” said Souter pacifically 
to his wife, whose eyes were flashing angrily. 
“ An’ — an’ — stranger things might happen, ye ken,” 
and he rubbed his chin reflectively with a sly look 
out of the corner of his roguish eye at Robert. She 
tossed her head haughtily. 

“ ’Twould not be so monstrous strange, Mr. Mac- 
Dougall, as you seem to think,” she retorted frigidly. 
Souter opened his eyes in speechless surprise. He 
was about to speak, but after one bewildered glance 
at the disdainful face of his bride, concluded that 
discretion was the better part of valor, and for the 
rest of that day he remained in thoughtful silence 
reflecting on the inconsistencies of woman kind 
in particular, and speculating upon the strange 
and mysterious workings of human nature in gen- 
eral. 

The Duke bade them all adieu and passed out into 
the garden, where its wild beauties attracted his 
eye. He wandered about, forgetting, in his admira- 
tion for the flowers, his daughter, who had lingered 
behind for one last farewell word — alone. 

“ And so, Mr. Burns,” she said thoughtfully, look- 
ing after Jean’s retreating figure, ‘‘ you have never 
regretted taking the step that bound your life to 
that of Jean Armour’s? Regretted doing your 
duty ? ” There was a note of regret in the vibrating 
voice. 

“ Never, my lady,” he replied firmly. “ It was 


368 HIGHLAND MARY 


the only really good thing I have ever done in my 
wretched life.” 

She looked at him a moment with hungry eyes. 
“ Do you never think of the old days in town ? ” she 
asked suddenly, and she was greatly surprised to 
see his face turn pale, his eyes flash and deepen. 

‘‘ For God’s sake, madam, do not mention the 
past ! ” he said, turning away. “ All that has passed 
out of my life forever,” he murmured after a pause, 
“ never to return.” 

“And you wish it so.?” she asked faintly. He 
bowed his head slowly. She moistened her lips fever- 
ishly and drew near to him, her eyes filled with a 
light that would have startled him had he seen it. 
“ Say not so ! Must I give up the friendship of the 
only man I esteem and hold dear.? ” she panted 
breathlessly. “ Oh, will you not renew the broken 
thread of our correspondence [he had written her 
several times since coming to Ellisland, but before 
Jean’s advent] and enjoy the sweet intercourse of 
thought, which will bring such gladness into my 
own life, and will brighten the gloom of your own, 
and will take naught from your wife’s peace of 
mind.?” 

He raised his head and regarded her thoughtfully. 
“ How can ye ask me that, my lady,” he answered, 
“ when ye declared to me in your last letter that you 
meant to preserve my epistles with a view, sooner 
or later, to expose them to the pillory of derision and 


HIGHLAND MARY 369 

the rocks of criticism? ” And a look of resentment 
gleamed in his eyes. 

“ I protest, Mr. Burns,” she cried reproachfully. 
“ I have, indeed, preserved your letters, but they will 
never leave my possession; they are cherished as the 
dearest treasures of my life.” 

He sighed and remained silent for a space. From 
the kitchen came the sound of children’s voices. He 
listened to it a moment, then turned to Lady 
Nancy, a look of resolution in his face. 

“ Lady Nancy,” he said firmly, “ I canna’ write 
to ye in sincerity. I have a wife and family, an’ I 
have given my word to Jean, and while I dare to sin, 
I dare not to lie, else madam I could perhaps too 
truly join grief with grief, and echo sighs to thine. 
But with one foot in the grave, I have no desire 
to stir up the old ashes of — friendship to find a living 
ember. ’Twould be but a weak, fitful burning at best. 
Nay, ’tis too late noo. Believe me, ’tis best, dear 
lady.” He rose to his feet and held out his hand 
again. ‘‘ An’ noo farewell. Lady Nancy, farewell.” 

She took his hand and looked into his set, unmoved 
face, and a sigh of utter disappointment, of patient 
longing, involuntarily escaped her trembling lips. 
“ If it must be, then farewell,” she answered slowly, 
a slight tremor in her soft voice. She walked to the 
door, then turned and fixing her eyes on him, she 
continued mournfully, “ Do not quite forget me, will 
you, Robert? Let the scenes of nature remind you 


370 HIGHLAND MARY 

of Nancy. In winter remember the dark shades of 
her life, for there are plenty ; in summer, the warmth 
of her friendship; in autumn, her glowing wishes to 
bestow plenty on all, and let spring animate you with 
hopes that your absent friend may yet surmount the 
wintry blasts of life, and revive to taste a spring- 
time of happiness.” 

He bowed his head gravely. “ I shall remember 
ye. Lady Nancy — friend,” he returned feelingly. 

She gave him one long, lingering look. ‘‘ Fare- 
well, farewell!” she gasped, and when he raised his 
head she was gone. 

He sighed and walked thoughtfully to the window. 
“ The past and all its pleasures will soon be but. a 
dim memory,” he muttered grimly, “ as one by one 
the connecting links which bound me to it are severed 
forever.” He paused and watched her as she joined 
her father in the garden, and a quizzical look flashed 
across his face. “ Faith! ” he muttered with a little 
smile, “ who would believe the time would come when 
lovely women would plead in vain for the favors o’ 
Rob Bums. Och! Robbie, ye are indeed fit only for 
the grave,” and he turned away from the window in 
earthly meditation. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


The next few days Jean was very busy with her 
preparations for their sojourn at the seaside. The 
date of their departure was already fixed and it now 
lacked but a few days before they would bid fare- 
well to Ellisland forever, for Robert had decided to 
take up his residence in Dumfries when his visit 
was ended, for the duties of his new office would neces- 
sitate his being there the quarter part of his time. 

As the day of their departure drew near, Robert 
grew more and more depressed, and day by day he 
sat in melancholy silence beside the window gazing 
with unseeing eyes upon the tangled yet graceful 
wilderness of flowers. Jean watched him in growing 
fear and anxiety as he sank deeper and deeper into 
those protracted fits of gloom and depression, 
and vainly sought to find some reason for the 
sudden change. He had been so elated at get- 
ting his promotion and at the many advantageous 
changes it would make in their condition — ^had dwelt 
with affectionate wonder on Eppy’s kindness in 
extending to them the invitation to accompany them 
to Brow, and had seemed to greatly improve in 
health and spirits for a few days. Then came Gil- 
bert’s letter stating that he had arrived in time to 
371 


372 HIGHLAND MARY 

prevent the eviction of the dear ones at home. The 
letter had plunged him into a state of feverish excite- 
ment and restless anxiety, and all day he would sit 
at the open window, watching with burning eyes 
the long narrow road that twisted and turned on its 
way to Mossgiel, straining his eyes eagerly at the 
approach of any casual traveler who might be pass- 
ing, then with a look of patient despair, sink back 
in his chair, pale and listless, his unfocused eyes 
again gazing into space. One night after he had 
left his chair and had retired to his bed for the night, 
looking more haggard than usual, Jean spied on the 
floor a crumpled paper which had evidently dropped 
from his nerveless hand. Picking it up, she smoothed 
it out and found it to be Gilbert’s letter, which she 
had not seen, as Robert had read it to her and then 
put it carefully aside. Slowly her gaze wandered 
over it. Suddenly she gave a great start, for at the 
bottom of the page this sentence caught her eye: 
‘‘ Mary leaves to-morrow for the Highlands and will 
pass through Ellisland.” Thoughtfully she put the 
letter on the chair where he could find it in the morn- 
ing, and sat down by the cradle of the bairn and 
gently rocked him till his fretful crying ceased; then 
she gave herself up to the heart-burning thoughts 
that filled her mind. She had tried so hard to be 
patient all these years, she had struggled and strug- 
gled to do her duty without a word of complaint, 
she thought, while bitter tears of patient grief and 


HIGHLAND MARY 373 

secret yearning for the love that she knew belonged 
to another rolled down her sorrowing cheek. She 
had no word of complaint to make against Robert 
though, for he had never sought to deceive her 
once, and there was no feeling of resentment in 
her heart against the little dairymaid. It was not 
the child’s fault. It was not the fault of either 
that they still loved each other. Only Robert 
might have shown her the letter, she thought with 
quivering lips ; there was no need to keep it from 
her. She would know it when Mary came to the house, 
anyway. She might have guessed the reason for his 
sudden change, she thought, wiping away her tears, 
only her mind had been so filled with the household 
preparations for moving that Mary had been quite 
forgotten. For a while she gently rocked the sleeping 
child, watching its sweet, flushed face, listening to 
its soft breathing, and soon all disturbing thoughts 
slipped away from her troubled mind, and a peaceful, 
holy calm entered her patient heart and shone 
through her love-lit eyes. Covering its little form 
carefully, she carried the cradle into her chamber and 
placed it within reach of her bed. Then as she dis- 
robed for the night in dreary silence, her eyes fixed on 
the pale face of her husband, who was tossing and 
muttering in his sleep, a tender wave of pity swept 
over her at the thought of the sweet lass who would 
shortly pass out of their lives forever, leaving only 
a sweet, haunting memory behind to remind them of 


374 HIGHLAND MARY 

her pathetic young life. Quickly she slipped into 
bed beside her restless husband, upon whose feverish 
cheek she pressed a tender kiss, and closing her tired 
eyes, fancied she slept, though her sleep was but a 
waking dream of love for her husband and children, 
in which all bright hopes and vague longings reached 
their utmost fulfillment, and yet were in some strange 
way crossed with shadows of sorrow and grief, 
which she had no power to disperse. 

On the following morning the heat was intense. No 
breath of air stirred a ripple on the sluggishly-flow- 
ing Nith, and there was a heaviness in the atmos- 
phere which made the very brightness of the sky 
oppressive. Such hot weather was unusual for that 
part of Scotland, and, according to Souter Johnny, 
betokened some change. The sun was dazzling, yet 
there was a mist in the air as though the heavens were 
full of unshed tears. A bank of nearly motionless 
clouds hung behind the dark, sharp peaks of the dis- 
tant mountains which lay beyond Mossgiel, for there 
was no wind stirring, and Robert, seated in his chair 
by the window, found himself too warm with his thick 
plaid wrapped closely around him, and throwing 
it back he let the sunshine bathe him in its golden 
glow and play on the uncovered ebony of his hair. 
He no longer watched the road with such eager 
intensity. Rarely this morning had his gaze wan- 
dered beyond the bush beneath the window, with its 
one snowy-white rose, the last rose of summer, nes- 


HIGHLAND MARY 375 

tling among the faded, worm-eaten leaves, looking 
so pure, so fragrant, so delicately white against the 
background of rusty, dead-looking foliage. It had 
blossomed in the night, and in the morning when he 
had approached the lattice from force of habit, al- 
though he had given up all hope of seeing Mary be- 
fore she left Ayrshire, he had spied it in all its delicate 
beauty. Each morning for six days now he had 
gone to that window, expecting before the day drew 
to its close to see the beloved form of his Mary 
approach, only to go to his bed at night in bitter 
disappointment. Gilbert’s letter stated she would 
start that day, and now the sixth day had come and 
yet there was no sign of her. He had told himself 
he would not watch the road this morning; there was 
no use, she had gone ; she had not wanted to see him ; 
she felt too bitter against him — it was only natural 
she should. These bitter thoughts had filled his mind 
with misery and wretchedness as he drew near the 
open window. Suddenly his eyes had rested on the 
spot of white nestling on the top of the bush. With 
a strange thrill at his heart, he had knelt down beside 
the latticed window, and folding his arms on the sill, 
gazed at the message from heaven, sent to bring 
peace and hope to his aching heart, so he fondly 
believed, while bright tears filled his eyes and brimmed 
over, falling warmly on his folded hands. 

“ Oh, Mary, my love, my love ! ” he whispered 
brokenly. “ Come to me before ye die.” And all 


376 HIGHLAND MARY 

that morning he had watched it expand and stretch 
out its petals to its utmost, wafting its perfume up 
into his grateful nostrils, till a peace such as had 
not visited his heart for many years, smoothed out 
the lines of suffering from his brow and softened the 
hard light in his deepened eyes. A verse of a poem 
he had written a few years before flashed across his 
memory : 

“Oft hae I roved by bonnie Boon, 

To see the rose and woodbine twine; 

And like a bird sang o’ its luve, 

And fondly sae did I o’ mine; 

Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose, 

Fu’ sweet upon its thorny tree; 

But my fausse luver stole my rose, 

But ah! he left the thorn wi’ me.” 


Jean, coming into the room a little later, found him 
there, his head resting on his hands, a smile of 
contented calm upon his face, which now seemed 
like the face of the youth she had known in Mauch- 
line, and the sight thrilled her strangely and brought 
a spasm of pain to her overcharged heart. 


CHAPTER XXVII 

That morning, when Robert first caught sight of the 
rose, he had experienced a sort of mental obsession 
in which his brain was mastered by the thought — an 
absurd idea perhaps, and one which his reason and 
his will both might easily have repelled, only he clung 
fondly to the belief, letting it fasten itself upon his 
mind and grow and grow — ^that Mary had passed 
away in the night, and that her spirit had found a 
temporary resting place in the heart of the white 
rose that had blossomed forth so unexpectedly, so 
unseasonably. He had watched the nodding fiower 
on its long, slender stem of green, waving grace- 
fully in the light breeze that had sprung up, and in 
his state of dreaming consciousness fancied he could 
see the wistful face of Highland Mary peeping out 
from among the snowy petals. As the feeling grew 
upon him that she had come to him in spirit, a great 
content settled down and around him, a mighty calm 
that seemed to still the troubled waters of his soul, 
and all the bitter discontent, the yearnings of his 
heart, the cravings, the unrest, faded away like a 
mist dissolved by the warm splendor of the sun. For 
a while he had sat there in blissful peace, a smile of 
ineffable rapture on his face, gazing with rapt ador- 
ing eyes at the dancing rose, which seductively blew 
37T 


378 HIGHLAND MARY 

nearer and nearer to him with each gust of the 
swiftly rising wind, then as he would lovingly stretch 
out his hand to touch it, to caress it, away it would 
go, eluding him like a dancing sunbeam, to the 
farthest side of the bush, bending its saucy head 
lower and lower till it was lost to sight for an instant, 
then up it would bound, gayly nodding, and then for 
a moment would pause in its restless elfin dance, quiv- 
ering on its stem as though tired with its sportive 
play, its coquetry. The sky had grown gradually 
darker, and little waves disturbed the smooth surface 
of the greenish gray grass that swayed and undu- 
lated in running billows, as the wind rose. But the 
kneeling man was all unconscious of the gloom that 
had settled over the landscape, shutting out the glori- 
ous sunshine, stilling the song of the birds, and 
bringing in its train a damp chill that presaged a 
storm. The wind tossed the curls madly about the 
face of the poet, but still he did not move; only as 
the chill air struck through his thin shirt, he mechan- 
ically pulled his plaid about his shoulders, and 
dreamed on happily, of the old days, when the heart 
was young, before sorrow had embittered his life, 
dreamed of a life of love with Mary by his side, 
dreamed and dreamed far into the morning, and so 
Jean had found him and left him to his slumbers. 
Suddenly his eyes opened, but he did not move. 
He sat there feeling a little cramped and stiff, until 
hazy recollections dawned slowly upon his mind, 


HIGHLAND MARY 379 

then he raised himself from his crouching position, 
and leaning out of the window gazed with eyes that 
were wonderfully luminous at the blossom which was 
just beyond his eager reach. He inhaled deep 
breaths of its fragrant perfume, a smile of loving 
tenderness on his lips. All at once a feeling of 
sudden depression tightened around his heart as he 
noticed for the first time the deepening gloom with- 
out, felt the lowering temperature of the atmosphere, 
which chilled and depressed him so strangely. He 
looked again at the swiftly dancing flower, and his 
heart stopped beating for an instant, while a look 
of pain, of heart-breaking sorrow, darkened his face 
— the white petals were dropping one by one, and 
were being whirled and tossed madly through the air 
like flakes of snow. He watched in silence, as the 
wind, with reckless abandon, tore them out and scat- 
tered them here and there, some sailing merrily out 
of sight — one dashing through the open window and 
against the white, agonized face of the suffering 
man, clinging to it for a moment, in a sweet caress, 
a last embrace, then slipping down — down, till it 
found rest on the floor, where soon it was dead and 
forgotten. As the last snowy petal left its stem, 
leaving it looking so bare and pitiful nestling in 
among the leaves as though ashamed of its nakedness, 
a hard sob of anguish escaped his lips, for it seemed 
as if each petal contained a part of the soul of his 
loved one, and leaning his face against the sash, he 


380 HIGHLAND MARY 

gave himself up to the crushing sorrow that sub- 
merged his soul and plunged him once more into 
black despair. It seemed as if the last link that 
had bound her to earth, and to him, was at last 
broken and she had passed on out of his life forever ; 
not even the rose was left to preserve as a sacred 
memory to look at occasionally, to bring her pres- 
ence nearer. And now no more such roses would 
bloom for him, not in this life anyway, and so he 
drearily mused in hopeless sorrow. 

All at once a vague feeling of uneasiness stole 
over him, a curious feeling that he was not alone; 
and yet he did not look around, for somehow it seemed 
that it was the spirit of his Mary still hovering in the 
air, seeking to comfort his grieving heart; and yet 
the strange feeling of her nearness was different from 
that emotion he had experienced when he in fancy 
had looked at her wistful face in the heart of the 
nodding rose. And suddenly he held his breath as 
the consciousness of her physical presence grew 
stronger and stronger upon him; his startled eyes 
fixed themselves upon the naked stem, swaying gently 
on the bush — he strained his ears to hear — ^he knew 
not what — he could not tell — a trembling seized his 
limbs — and when he heard a sweet, low voice call 
“ Robert,” not from the slender stalk, but somewhere 
behind him, he gave no start of surprise. He told 
himself it — it — was only imagination — the great 
longing within him had — ^but there it was again — it 


HIGHLAND MARY 381 

could not be fancy — it — it must be — ^he turned slowly 
in the direction of the voice as if afraid to find naught 
but the empty room to mock him, for he had heard 
no sound to indicate a presence within the room. As 
his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom and his dulled 
vision cleared, he saw just inside the door, standing 
with hands outstretched to him — a flesh and hlood 
reality, but oh! so pitifully changed. He gave a 
gasping cry and sprang to clasp the swaying form 
close to his throbbing breast. 

Ah! the rapture of that meeting, the blissful joy 
which filled his aching heart and crowded out stern 
recollections from his memory, while all thoughts of 
the grim present, its bitter facts which faced him, 
the vain regrets, all — all were now forgotten. The 
lines of pain in his haggard face were smoothed out 
gently and deep peace settled upon their troubled 
souls. 

“ Ah, Mary ! ” he breathed softly, breaking the 
sacred stillness. ‘‘Ye have come at last. Oh, it has 
been so long, dearie, so long, and I have wanted ye 
so much,” and he held her to his heart in a strong, 
jealous, passionate embrace, as if he could never 
part with her again on earth, but would shield her 
from even the shadow of death, that he saw stamped 
on her pale, pinched features, and which glowed in 
the haunting depths of her tired blue eyes. A smile 
of sadness passed quickly over her face like the sun 
that peeps through the sudden rift of a cloud. 


382 HIGHLAND MARY 

“Ye knew, laddie, I couldna’ go awa’ without 
seeing ye just once mair,” she whispered tenderly. 
A fit of coughing suddenly racked her slender frame. 
He led her weak and trembling to a chair and gently 
wiped away the beads of perspiration from her fore- 
head, and for a moment she leaned up against him 
in utter exhaustion. Presently she smiled up in his 
anxious face and faintly thanked him. “ Dinna’ be 
alarmed, dearie,” she faltered. “ Fm aright noo,” 
and she bravely straightened up in her seat, but he 
would not release her altogether. 

And so they sat, sad and silent, knowing the part- 
ing, the sad, final parting would come in a few 
quickly-fleeing moments. 

Outside the clouds had been gathering thickly 
over the sky, and now and then a few shafts of sun- 
light still forced a passage through them with steady 
persistency, although storm hovered over all, waiting 
the signal to burst forth. Suddenly a silver glare of 
lightning sprang out from beneath the black-winged 
cloud hanging low in the horizon, and a few large 
drops of rain began to fall. Mary nestled closer to 
him as she saw the brilliant flash, and shivered appre- 
hensively. They both were thinking of that other 
storm, when he had bidden farewell to Ayrshire in 
poverty and despair, to take his place in Edinburgh 
among the high and mighty, to claim the reward 
of genius — honor, fame and renown. And now the 
time had come for her to say farewell, only there 


HIGHLAND MARY 383 

was a difference, and such a difference! She was bid- 
ding good-by to life, to love, to everything. A 
^^PPy smile broke over her wistful face as she 
thought of her reward; it would not be such a fleet- 
ing thing as riches, honor and fame. Thank God, 
it was more than those ; it was an eternity of happi- 
ness. No more sorrow, no more suffer'ing, only 
peace, divine peace, such as the world knoweth not, 
such as she had never known in her short, eventful 
Hfe. 

“ And so, Mary,” murmured Robert brokenly, 
“ the end of our life’s romance has come at last.” 

She put her little hand in his and pressed it 
warmly. 

“ Yes, ’tis the end, Robin Adair. The end of all, 
but it had to come some time; we were by[t wearing 
our hearts oiut m vain longmgs, in bitter regrets, 
ye ken that, dear.” She paused and idly watched 
the rain, which was now coming down fiercely. “ It 
will be better for — for us — all when I am gone,” 
she murmured presently, with a far-away look in her 
eyes. 

A sob of anguish caused her to turn quickly to 
the sorrowing man by her side. Putting her hand 
on his head, she continued in pathetic resignation, 
“ I will be spared much pain and sorrow, ye ken, 
so dinna greet for me, laddie. I — am content, 
nay glad to go, for I — I am so tired — so very 
tired of this — long, unhappy struggle.” Her voice 


384 HIGHLAND MARY 

trembled and the tears rolled slowly down her sad 
cheeks. 

“ If I, too, could only end it all,” he moaned. 

Sh ! laddie ! ” she answered in gentle reproach. 

Ye mustna’ wish for death ; ye have those dependent 
on ye, whom ye maun think of noo, Jean and the 
bairns.” Her voice grew very sweet and caressing. 
‘‘ I saw them as I came in. Oh, they are such bonnie 
little lads, dearie. So like ye, too. Gilbert is o’er 
fond of them; he is playing wi’ them noo.” 

Mrs. Dunlop had been taken ill at the last moment 
and had commissioned Gilbert to take her place. She 
had supplied him plentifully with money for the 
journey and had then sorrowfully taken her depart- 
ure for Edinburgh, her kind old heart sad and heavy. 

Robbie lad,” continued Mary earnestly, “ ye — 
ye maun take Jean close to your heart. Ye maun 
love her fondly for the bairns’ sake and — for her 
own, too, for she is a good, kind wife to ye, and ye’ll 
all — ^be very happy yet, I ken week” 

He slipped down from his chair to his knees and 
buried his tear-stained face in her lap. “ When ye 
go, Mary,” he murmured brokenly, ‘‘ I’ll never know 
peace and happiness again.” She let him weep on 
in silence. Presently he raised his head and looked 
at her. “Ye dinna’ ken, lassie, how I have hungered 
for a sight of your dear face — a word from your 
sweet lips, this last year.” He clung to her passion- 
ately. “ An’ noo in a few minutes,” he continued 


HIGHLAND MARY 385 

in anguish, ‘‘ ye will pass out o’ my life forever and 
I maun live on here — desolate — and heart-broken.” 

“Nay, nay!” she cried reproachfully. “ Dinna’ 
say that, laddie, not alone, not alone,” and she looked 
compassionately at the door of the kitchen where 
Jean sat in patient misery holding her bairn to her 
aching heart. At that moment Gilbert softly opened 
the door and told them that they would have to 
start at once, that the storm would not let up and 
that they must catch the boat at Greenock that 
night. 

“ Ye had better say good-by, noo,” and he closed 
the door quietly behind him. 

They looked at each other, too dazed for words. 
Then she started to rise to her feet, but he clasped 
her hands tightly, though she did not feel the pain, 
and pressed her into the seat again. 

“Not yet, not yet, Mary!” he gasped. “I 
canna’ let ye go just yet. ’Tis like tearing my heart 
out by its roots.” 

“Ye mustna’ greet so, laddie,” said Mary, fright- 
ened by the vehemence of his sorrow. 

“ ’Tis all my fault,” he moaned, “ all thro’ my 
sinful weakness that ye are made to suffer noo, all 
my fault.” 

She put her fingers on his lips. “ Sh ! dearie I ” 
she remonstrated softly. “ Dinna’ blame yoursel’. 
If we suffer noo, we must na’ forget how happy we 
have been, and we were happy, weren’t we, laddie? ” 


386 HIGHLAND MARY 


and she smiled in fond reminiscence, then con- 
tinued a trifle unsteadily, “ An — an hour’s happi- 
ness is worth a year of pain, for when we get sad 
an’ lonely, we can live it all over again, canna’ we? ” 
She paused and sighed pathetically. “ Only it — it 
isna’ real, is it, laddie? ” A sudden break in her 
voice caused her to put her hand to her throat and 
look away with quivering lips. Then she went on 
in plaintive, pleading gentleness, “Ye will sometimes 
think of me — way up — in the Highlands, won’t ye, 
dearie? It willna’ wrong — Jean, for — soon your 
Mary will be — in Heaven, in her castle grand.” 

The thunder rolled along the sky in angry rever- 
berating echoes, stilling the low voice, while frequent 
flashes of lightning leaped out like knives suddenly 
drawn from dark sheaths — ^yet toward the north 
over Greenock the sky was clearing, and streaks 
and beams of gold fell from the hidden sun, with a 
soothing promise of a clear and radiant sunset. 
Mary’s face brightened as she watched the sun- 
beams struggling through the lightened clouds, and 
she went on dreamily, in the prolonged lull of the 
storm : 

“ My home there will be so fine, much finer than 
the castle in Edinburgh.” She smiled tenderly and 
let her hand slip down from his head to his heaving 
shoulder, where it rested in loving quiet. “ How 
happy I was that night,” she mused ; “ an’ the sweet 
gown was so pretty I — hated to take it off, but it 


HIGHLAND MARY 387 

wasna’ mine.” She paused with quivering lips. “ But 
— but — was going to buy one the next day for 
my own, wasna’ I.? A white one — all smooth and 
soft and shiny — for — for my wedding gown.” Her 
voice died away in a hushed, mournful quaver. 

“ Don’t, don’t, Mary ! ” sobbed Robert unrestrain- 
edly. “ I canna’ bear to think of that noo, noo 
when I maun give ye up forever.” He stroked her 
face and covered her pale, thin, toil-worn hands 
with heart-breaking kisses. Presently he grew 
calmer. “ I shall never forget that night, Mary, 
that night with its pleasures and pain,” he went on 
with dreamy pathos. “ It is ever in my thoughts ; 
e’en in my dreams your dear bonnie face haunts 
me with its sweet, pathetic smile, and your tender lips 
seem to say, ‘ laddie, ye were not true to your vows, 
ye have broken my heart.’ ” She gave a little cry 
of pain. 

“ No, no, laddie, I never thought that,” she cried, 
and she looked at him with gentle, pitying eyes. 

“ I wad try to speak, to implore your forgiveness 
for the misery I had caused ye,” continued Robert, 
his husky voice heard faintly above the wail of the 
wind, which shook the lattice with a sort of stealthy 
clatter, like a midnight prowler striving to creep in 
to steal and plunder. “ And in my dumb despair 
and anguish I would clutch at your floating gar- 
ments only to have them vanish into air, and I would 
awake to find myself — alone — with my bitter re- 


388 HIGHLAND MARY 

morse and sorrow.” A low, choked sob broke from 
his hollow breast — he covered his face with his hands. 
“ Can ye ever forgive me? ” he murmured. 

Mary regarded him with infinite compassion, a 
heroic smile on her tired, quivering lips. “ Freely 
do I forgive everything, laddie,” she replied, “ an’ 
when I am gone I want ye to remember always that 
Mary Campbell had only love, pity and forgiveness 
in her heart for ye.” She raised her trembling 
hands solemnly. “ May God bring peace to your 
troubled heart, laddie, and may your future dreams 
be filled with joy and happiness, of love and pros- 
perity.” 

The door opened and Jean quietly entered the 
room, her tense, white face full of patient sorrow. 
She had sat in the kitchen for an eternity it seemed 
to the waiting woman, while Mary was taking her 
farewell of her husband. She had tried to talk to 
Gilbert, to interest herself in the news of home, but 
the words simply refused to leave her lips, and so 
she had sat there, listlessly watching the children 
playing around their uncle’s knee, her ears straining 
to hear some sound from the other room. No one 
knew how she suffered, to step aside, to welcome to 
her home his former sweetheart, to know they were 
there clasped in each other’s arms ; and yet she did 
not feel bitter toward Mary somehow, strange as it 
might seem. She pitied her, she pitied them both, 
and it filled her with a strange feeling of surprise 



'The door opened and Jean quietly entered the room 



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HIGHLAND MARY 389 

that she could feel so. Still loving Robert as fondly 
as she did, she could not help the feeling of despair 
which crept over her at times, to know, to fully real- 
ize, that she held only a secondary place in his 
affections, to hear him calling for another, for 
Mary. Sometimes in thought she caught herself 
bitterly arraigning him for his thoughtlessness, his 
apparent heartlessness ; then the thought of his weak 
condition, his ill health, his distracted state of mind, 
these past months, tempered her judgment. He was 
hardly responsible for his actions, and if he were 
conscious of his own selfishness he had lost the power, 
the strength of will, to restrain his feverish impulses. 
She wondered vaguely if it would be different when 
— ^when she had passed away forever — if her memory 
would still come between them. She hoped not — 
she prayed that it might not be so. 

Gilbert had left her to her silent musings, and had 
gone out to harness the horses. Returning, he told 
her that they must start at once, so she had opened 
the door to tell them, and as her eyes took in the 
misery which was reflected in their white, drawn faces 
she was moved to intense pity, and the tears rained 
slowly down her cheeks. 

Come, Mary, Gilbert says ’tis time to start,” 
she faltered. They both looked up slowly at the 
sound of her voice, then gazed dully into each other’s 
eyes. Presently Mary rose from her chair and stood 
up unsteadily, stretching out her little, cold, white 


890 HIGHLAND MARY 


hands to Robert, who clutched them in his own fever- 
ish palms as a drowning man clutches a straw. 

“ The time has come to part, laddie,” she said 
bravely, a wan little smile on her bluish lips. 

A violent shuddering seized him, he did not move 
for a moment. Finally he staggered to his feet, 
and a quiver of agony passed over his face. He 
looked at her with dulled, glazed eyes and his face 
assumed a ghastly hue. 

“ ’Tis so hard, so cruel, to say good-by forever,” 
he breathed huskily, for his throat was dry and 
parched. His swaying figure tottered a moment, 
then he drew her slowly into his arms and pressed 
his lips to her forehead. “ ’Tis the last time on 
earth, Mary,” he whispered brokenly. Her lips 
trembled, but she would not give way to the feeling of 
dizziness that threatened to rob her of her con- 
sciousness. She must leave him with a smile, she 
told herself ; she must not make it harder for him. 
“ Yes, for the last time, Robert,” she repeated slowly, 
“ May God bless and watch over ye, Robin Adair — 
till — we — meet in Heaven. Good-by.” Her voice 
died away inarticulately, and she sank forward into 
his arms, where she lay motionless with closed eyes, 
utterly spent in body and spirit, and save for a 
shivering sob that now and then escaped her, she 
seemed almost insensible. Jean rushed quickly for- 
ward and drew her into a chair, while Gilbert fetched 
a glass of water, which he held to her white lips. 


HIGHLAND MARY 391 

The wind shook the doors and whistled shrilly 
through the crevices, then as though tired of its own 
wrath, surged away in hoarse murmurs, through 
the branches of the creaking old beech, toward the 
Loch, and there was a short, tense silence while they 
waited to see signs of life appear in the face of the 
stricken girl. Presently she opened those azure blue 
eyes and smiled up in their anxious faces; then she 
struggled to her feet, but she put her hand quickly 
to her heart and tottered. 

“ Oh, my — poor — weak heart,” she gasped faintly. 
Jean caught her quickly in her strong arms and 
stroked her soft cheek with a curious yearning sen- 
sation of love tugging at her heartstrings. 

‘‘ Poor dear,” she said compassionately, “ you’re 
too weak to stand so much excitement,” and she put 
her back firmly in the chair. Mary attempted to 
rise again, but Jean would not permit her. “ Gil- 
bert shall carry you to the carriage,” she told her. 
Gilbert stepped to her side. 

“ I will be a light burden noo, Gilbert,” she fal- 
tered, smiling pathetically into his strong, rugged 
face, which bore traces of his deep, bitter grief. 
Jean gently put her arms about her and in silence 
implanted a kiss on her pure, sweet face; then she 
turned away and covered her face with her hands. 
Gilbert bent over and picked up the frail body, and 
in spite of his efforts to restrain his emotion, a sigh 
that was almost a groan escaped him, for she was 


392 HIGHLAND MARY 


no heavier than a child of a few summers. He car- 
ried her past his brother, who was sitting with head 
bowed upon his breast in an attitude of absolute 
despair. 

“ Greet not for me, dearie,” whispered Mary 
faintly, stretching out her hand and letting it rest 
tenderly on his head. God’s — ^will — ^be — done,” 

and her dry, burning eyes took their last look, and 
said their last farewell as Gilbert slowly carried her 
from the room and closed the door, shutting Robert 
out from her lingering gaze. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


Then whilst his throbbing veins beat high 
With every impulse of delight, 

Dash from his lips the cup of joy, 

And shroud the scene in shades of night; 

And let despair, with wizard light. 

Disclose the yawning gulf below, 

And pour incessant on his sight. 

Her spectred ills and shapes of woe. 

For some moments Robert sat there, apparently 
dead to his surroundings. He had not looked up or 
moved as the door closed upon the retreating figures. 
He seemed to be in a state of complete exhaustion 
of mind and body. Presently the sound of the car- 
riage rolling over ■ the swishing, muddy driveway 
roused him from his lethargy. Raising his head he 
looked wildly around the room — then paused and 
listened — he was as one in a dream, realizing nothing 
plainly. He could hardly remember what had taken 
place during the past few minutes; he could grasp 
nothing tangible in thought or memory, till with a 
wild start he seemed to awake, as the rattle of the 
passing wheels brought back recollection. He stag- 
gered to the window and, throwing back the lattice, 
gazed out at the rapidly retreating blur of moving 
wheels and horses and shapeless figures, and watched 
it till it was lost to sight. As he stood there a soft 
393 


394 HIGHLAND MARY 


change, a delicate transparency, swept over the dark 
bosom of the sky. Pale pink streaks glittered on the 
dusky horizon — darts of light began to climb upward 
into the clouds, and to plunge downward upon the 
waving field of hay ; the radiance spread swiftly, till 
suddenly the whole heavens were bathed in the glori- 
ous light, and the last cloud, fading into nothingness, 
revealed the sun in all its matchless glory, hanging 
low in the sky just above the hills, behind which it 
would soon drop in stately splendor. Slowly the 
watcher sank down to his knees and leaned his tired 
head against the sash, his eyes closed and sunken. 

“ She is gone, gone,” he murmured brokenly, “ an’ 
I am left all alone noo, all alone.” Jean bent over 
him with pathetic tenderness, and taking his limp 
hand in her own warm palm, she said with timid 
reproach : 

“ Not alone, Robert, while you have your — 
bairns — and me.” She feared to call his attention 
to herself in the midst of his grief, lest he might 
revile her for standing between him and happiness; 
but he did not hear. 

“ Oh, Jean, how can I take up the burden of life 
again? ” he cried weakly, clinging to her hand with 
despairing strength. It thrilled her strangely to 
feel the grasp of his hand, to feel his weakness, his 
sudden dependence, the appeal in his dark, mournful 
eyes raised to hers so pitifully; she knelt beside him 
and drew his head down on her heaving bosom. 


HIGHLAND MARY 395 

“Ye must be brave,” she told him, her voice trem- 
bling with a new-found happiness, a sudden joy. He 
needed her now, needed her love and care more than 
ever. Then she continued softly, her voice vibrating 
with thrilling intensity, “Ye have much to live 
for yet, lad. Ye must be strong, ye must be brave. 
Pluck up your courage! I’ll help ye.” 

He looked at her wonder ingly, then he slowly 
bowed his head. “Yes, Jean,” he said humbly, “I 
will be strong; I’ll try to be brave.” 

She helped him to his chamber, and placed him 
beside the window, where he could no longer watch 
the road, and left him. For a while he gazed out 
over the fields in apathetic calm, his mind a blank. 
Across the field he could see Souter Johnny at work 
in his garden. Suddenly he straightened up and 
listened. Souter was singing. 

“O where, an* O where is my Highland laddie gone?’* 

came the old cracked voice. He closed his eyes 
wearily, but he could not shut out the sound. 

“ Oh, Mary, my lost Highland Mary,” he whis- 
pered under his breath. 


THE END 


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A Truly Great Stor^ 


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YOUNG American of the cloth is sent 
to India as a teacher. He meets a 
beautiful native girl, pretends to marry 
her but in reality betrays her. Return- 
ing to America he finds that his sweetheart has gone 
to India and has met the girl he has betrayed. The 
end is tragic. A tale of great strength which every 
one should read. 


ILLUSTRATED BOUND IN CLOTH 

Price 

$1.50 

THE C. M. CLARK PUBLISHING CO. 
BOSTON, MASS. 



The UNTAMED 
PHILOSOPHER 

AT HOME AND WITH 

THE PLUGONIANS 
OF PLUGOLIA 


Being a Tale of Hens and some other People 


FRANK W. HASTINGS 

AUTHOR OP SEVERAL WIDELY UNKNOWN WORKS 


The book is a series of deliciously funny essays on such 
things as Marriage, Work, Love, Country, Church, Wrecks, 
Politics, Sundries, etc. 

The book bears this unique dedication, “ To the ever- 
lasting, ever present, ever dignified, cver-plentiful and never 
murmuring weather these evidences of dementia are inscribed.” 

It is quite the funniest book of philosophy ever published 
and one of the best works of humor that have been issued in 
many years. 




THE C. M. CLARK PUBLISHING CO. 

BOSTON, MASS. 




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